


Timothy Stoker's Guide to dating

by Pezzythecat



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: A cat - Freeform, Alternative Timelines, Elias is Elias, F/M, Family Issues, Fluff and Angst, I Tried, Kissing, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, References to Depression, Rejection, Sorry Jane, Swearing, Tea, Trauma, a dog in the archives?, alcohol consumption, because unlike Alex I am not a coward, beta read because ironically the fic about Tim is the one where I don't go kayaking, forced confesions, references to death, season one archive gang, suggestions of a sexual nature, this is a worm free zone, timelines hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 65,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27841267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pezzythecat/pseuds/Pezzythecat
Summary: Timothy Stoker  has a lot of advice when it comes to matters of the heart, online agony aunt, gossip monger and general love guru. He has a list and he sticks to it.Or he did.That was before he took a job at the Magnus Institute and before he met three of the most fascinating and frustrating people to ever come into his life.Rule #7 under no circumstances fall for a co-worker.Yeah, that rule was starting to become a problem.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker, Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Comments: 184
Kudos: 218
Collections: TMA Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my contribution to the TMA big bang 2020.  
> You can find everyone else's wonderful work at https://tmabigbang.tumblr.com  
> or as part of the collection on here at https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tmabb20.
> 
> If your new here hello!  
> If your one of my regulars... hey guess what! this one is actually has a full arch and is finished!  
> (normal service will resume soon after I sleep for a month )

Thanks to my wonderful beta's and artists who have helped me when I felt like i was bashing my head against a brick wall.<br />  
so big shout out to:

Desert-lily (https://desert-lily.tumblr.com/) (artist and bringer of mood board goodness)

Goth-Archivist (https://goth-archivist.tumblr.com/) (beta and spotter of bad spelling)

Sweet-Bun (https://sweet--bun.tumblr.com/ ) ( Artist and owner of the cutest moth Jon you will ever see)

Spellboundcities (https://spellboundcities.tumblr.com/) (Artist and possible superhuman...<br />  
hang in there buddy) 

Drumkonwords (https://drumkonwords.tumblr.com/) (Beta, cheerleader, pun enthusiast and discusser of British/American spelling stupidity)

My fellow Tim enthusiast, hero and champion of the booty shorts bookofwilds (https://bookofwildes.tumblr.com/) ( Beta, space maker, shouter of capital letters and key smashes)

special shout out to Triffid who might be part cryptid but is in good company and posted before me today so please check out the fic. and thankyou for bouncing ideas and getting sucked down the rabbit hole with me, even if you are cursed at one am (https://triffidsandcuckoos.tumblr.com/)

playlist compiled by me can be found here. 

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7cZoMYhB9rks9AlrVrUTql?si=J_I0SjQMS9OjdEoEiiE16Q

i will drop back in and edit the links and add art when it's available

* * *

*********

*********

**Editor-in-beef/tumblr.com**

**Editor-In-Beef**

**_Anonymous asked: So I got drunk and I think I hit on my boss, I’ve been going through some stuff in my life and he was just THERE! What do I do?_ **

**_A:_ ** **_Rule Number 7: Never EVER get involved with the people you work with._ ** **_It can only end in disaster. The payoff isn’t worth it._ **

**_Time to look for a new job. Flirting is fine, but don’t cross the streams, you’ll end up with too much collateral damage. If you can’t laugh it off it’s time to move on._ **

**_X MrT X_ **

**  
  
**

**_******_ **

“So Mr. Stoker, do you have any questions for myself regarding the role?”

Tim surveyed the man sitting across the large oak desk in his lavish desk chair, something about him made Tim very uneasy. If it hadn’t been for the fact that he wanted access to the library, Tim would have walked out of the interview. 

Elias Bouchard was everything he hated about the upper rings of the publishing industry. Tim knew it would be just as bad here as it had been working for Obscurus Books, but there was only so much research he could do without the resources the Magnus Institute had in its possession, and well, if he was going to throw his life into research he might as well get paid for it.

What was it they said? Always have a question for your interviewer? Shows that you care about the company or some such bollocks…

“I take it you are a very hands on employer? I never expected to be interviewed by the Head of the Institute.”

There was something unnerving in the way the man’s smile seemed to die before it reached his eyes. The grin set upon his face seemed genuine, but there was something about the eyes. Did he dye his hair? The eyes didn’t fit his complexion at all, like someone had used the sharpen tool on Photoshop and just edged on the wrong side of overdone. 

“I like to conduct interviews myself. It’s a tradition started by our founder Jonah Magnus and carried on by myself and my predecessors.” He gestured towards the paintings behind him. “You can’t really know who you're employing unless you see them first hand. Nobody is employed here unless I personally approve, I find I’m an excellent judge of character.”

_Ah, he’s one of those bosses then._ Tim tried to school his face into something that he hoped came across as genuine. “That’s refreshing in this day and age, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Not at all Mr. Stoker, I encourage my employees to be as open as possible. There are no secrets here, the Magnus Institute prides itself on its open door policy. Well, at least once you have signed that contract. The only place off limits is our archives, and that is more for protection from our current archivist rather than any of its contents.” The man sighed. “One of my less...better judgments, I assure you.”

Tim nodded along, unsure of what he was agreeing too.

“Anyway, in offering you the position, we would of course take into consideration any termination time owed at your current employer. I believe you agreed to the salary in your preliminary written interviews, but I have several others to interview before being able to offer you the position.” The man regarded him over the top of steepled fingers, “However Mr. Stoker, I see great potential in you. I will contact you by the end of the day.”

Tim understood himself to be excused. He shook the hand of the man who followed him to the door, fully aware of the fact he was still under observation. He kept his mind on the prospect of open access to the library, and not on the oppressive feeling of eyes on the back of his neck.

“Thank you again for your time, Mr. Stoker.” Mr. Bouchard now stood in the doorway looking out towards the waiting room, where three other people sat looking nervous with their portfolios in hand. “Miss Sasha James?” 

The woman that Tim had been speaking to briefly got to her feet. She looked nervous, but from what he had attained before his own interview she was more than qualified for the role. 

“Good luck,” he muttered and her face lit up, the nerves seemed to fall from her as she nodded before joining Mr. Bouchard at his office door. 

There was something dark in Elias Bouchard's eyes as Tim caught his gaze. 

Something was definitely wrong with the Magnus Institute, but he just couldn't put his finger on it.

**  
**  


*****

**Editor-In-Beef**

**_Anonymous asked: Hey Mr T, where are you? We miss you._ **

**_A: Hi anon - thanks for the ask. Life got real, what can I say but I’m sorry for my absence._ **

**_I got a new job, I start tomorrow. What's the phrase? New year, new me? Ignore the fact that it's July. I promise my usual guff will resume as soon as possible. Let me just get the lay of the new land beforehand, imagine if I end up working some boring office job, I'd have to leave. I live for the dramatic star crossed lovers._ **

****

**_X MrT X_ **

**_*****_ **

**Editor-In-Beef**

**_ALLmyFRiendsArealiens asked : BUT BUT BUT! What about Sambuca and Sunny… you can’t leave us hanging!_ **

**_A: As if I would do that to you? Do you really think I would leave you on a cliffhanger? I have an update… and boy howdy is it a doozy._ **

**_Sambuca and the lovely Sunny, the world's biggest will they/won't they. Well, my dear followers, after the trials and tribulations that have been the last however many months (I think we're in double digits aren't we?) Sunny was last seen disappearing into the sunset with surprise option number three, Pinecone._ **

**_Pinecone snuck in with the final blow, knocking Sambuca out of the park with a wonderful play involving a large oversized inflatable dinosaur costume and a well-sung karaoke number. They were last seen disappearing on the northern line, hand in costumed hand._ **

**_Readers, I'm as shocked as you are. Who would have thought that after all this time we hadn’t even considered this as an option? But this brings me on to THE List._ **

**_Rule #13 : Never assume you're the only playing piece on the board._ **

**_In this big old game of love there are many players, you have to work for it! Don’t let it slip, be consistent. You don’t want to be beaten to the punch by a tyrannosaurus rex._ **

**_Have you seen their arms? How do they even hold hands? Wipe their butts? Make a bed? But I digress._ **

**_Rule #13 comes in many forms and should always be at the forefront of your mind. If you’re serious about the person, make sure they know every day. Because if you don’t, someone else will! If in doubt I refer you to the song Everybody Needs Someone to Love, from the Blues Brothers movie. Solid words to live by._ **

**_XMr TX_ **

******

As far as first impressions went, Tim knew he had the skill to always make a good one. 

So when he walked into the lobby of the Magnus Institute on his first day, he had none of that apprehension he often heard others talk about. 

Tim knew himself well enough to adapt and survive in most social situations, and if that failed there was always rule #1, fake it til you make it.

So the fact that the receptionist looked less than amused with his harmless flirting when she pointed him in the direction of the induction momentarily threw him off his stride. Maybe he was out of practice? It had been a while since he had a first day, and before Danny had always been there to kick him up the arse and tell him to get his shit together when he doubted himself. 

He wasn’t going to lie, he missed his brother something terrible as he had worked his way through his morning routine, trying so hard to remember the sound of Danny’s voice. He hated that his memory was fading. 

He tried not to let the negative response from the receptionist drag him down further as he headed to the heart of the institute following the woman's vague directions. He knocked before entering Reading Room Two. Best to be polite; after all, if Mr. Bouchard had interviewed him, what’s to say he wasn’t going to take it upon himself to also do his induction?

However when he opened the door, Elias Bouchard was nowhere to be seen, but another familiar smiling face greeted him. It belonged to the woman he had spoken to before his interview. She sat in one of the uncomfortable looking chairs and looked up from the pile of paperwork before her when he entered. She seemed to relax as she recognised him, her smile going from a forced awkward thing to something that radiated warmth. Tim had a feeling the day was beginning to turn around; he and this potential new coworker with the gigawatt smile was just the beginning of it.

“You got the job then?” He returned the grin as he slid into the vacant chair at Sasha’s side.

“Apparently you’re my good luck charm, Mr. Stoker.”

“Call me Tim.” He offered her a hand. She gripped back like she had just agreed to a duel at dawn. Why did he think he had just met his match? There was something inquisitive in her eyes that flashed when he squeezed back just as firmly.

“Sasha, but why do I get the feeling you remembered that anyway?”

“You got me, I'm secretly a spy. I know all about you, Ms. Sasha James. Have they put you in Research too?” he inquired; he had been sure the job post had only been for one position. 

“No, Artefact Storage, not that I have any idea why. I would have thought that was more your field of expertise.”

“What do you mean?”

“Anthropology degrees are probably more useful in curating items than poking around in Research I should imagine.” Sasha’s expression was a straight out invitation to question her morality.

“How did you-”

“I'm exceptionally good with computers, Tim. It's surprising what you can find with some well worded Google search terms.” The look of mischief suited her; maybe they could be friends, he already liked her style.

“I made such an amazing impact on you with my first impression that you had to stalk me? Is that a technique that works well for you?” If it was he might take it up in future, even if it was a bit creepy.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she said, turning back to the paperwork before her. Her hair fell loosely around her face where it had worked itself loose from her hair wrap.

“I was joking when I said I was a spy, but you're like some sort of James Bond character.” He moved towards her, elbows on the desk as he leaned into her space “Sasha James, secret agent.”

She chuckled under her breath and was about to reply when the reading room door swung open again and a harassed looking woman who appeared to be in her late sixties walked in. Her arms were full of manila files and she looked like this was the last possible place she wanted to be.

“Welcome to the Magnus Institute. My name is Diana, I'm the Head Librarian. Unfortunately, the Head of Research is on extended sick leave at the moment so myself and the library team will be your point of contact for the time being…” Tim had already begun tuning her out, his eyes now browsing over the large tomes that lined the room's walls. 

Beside him, Sasha was busy taking notes. He should be listening, he knew he should, but right now his mind had wandered to what else Sasha had found out about him. Had she read about Danny’s disappearance? Did she know about his online presence, the fabricated reality that was his online persona, doling out advice that he had very little qualifications to be supplying? He was more than aware that the finely-crafted version of himself that he shared with the world was a million miles from the real him and the threads that pulled it together were frayed around the seams. 

His mind was racing, unable to focus on the monotonous voice of the woman that stood before them. It wasn’t until Sasha knocked her knee against his that he realized whatever Diana had been talking about had come to an end.

“I’m needed in the library. Mr. Bouchard insists on open days at the most inopportune times. I shall send one of my assistants up and get them to give you a tour.” Tim found an I.D thrust into his hand and with that, Diana was out the door. Sasha laughed, her dark hair bouncing as she tried to muffle the sound with a cupped hand to her face. Tim was in agreement; Diana had been quite full on and he was starting to think there was something just a little bit odd about everyone who worked here. It would seem that Sasha thought the same.

“Do you think she ever comes up for air? Or do you think that she monologues in her sleep?”

“I dunno, Double-O-Sash, you’re the spy! I’d have thought you would have done surveillance on everyone in the institute before you started!” He turned the I.D over in his hand. It was just a standard plastic name card, so why did it feel like so much more? 

“These seem pretty useless.” He indicated the card.

Sasha rolled her eyes, “Did you hear anything she said?” 

Tim shook his head; what was the point in lying? No doubt they had an operational guidance manual the size of a phonebook that he would have to go through before his first pay cheque, whatever he had missed he was bound to pull out of that. It couldn’t be any more boring than listening to Diana’s deadened tone. “One lot of corporate spiel is the same as any other lot, I got the jist of it.” 

“How did you get this job again?” 

“My good looks and charming personality. Bouchard gave my ass one look and decided he would like to see it around more often.”

“Unbelievable,” Sasha shook her head, causing more of her hair to fall from below her hair wrap; she was looking at him with a look of exasperation and fondness. “Are you always like this?”

“Only on days that end in Y, and every second full moon; that's when I howl at the moon, grow fur and try and hump your le-”

The door opened and Tim cut off his train of thought. 

The stranger smiled at them, he was trying to take up the smallest amount of space that he possibly could which was nigh impossible due to the man's height, his head all but grazing the doorframe. He sounded timid as he addressed them, “Sarah and Tom?”

He looked at Sasha, she shrugged before speaking “Sasha and Tim, but close…” The man in the doorway flushed, trying to make himself seem smaller. Tim attempted to figure out how tall he really was—he had to be taller than him— built like a rugby player, heavy set and broad. It would be quite intimidating if it wasn’t for the voice- warm and friendly, if not a little scared.

“I am so sorry! Diana told me … well, obviously the wrong thing. I’m Martin.” He indicated himself. “I’ve been sent to show you around.” 

“Oh thank god, I was starting to think that everyone who worked here was over the age of eighty.” Sasha said and Tim agreed. 

Martin smiled at them, his face seemed to light up when he did that, open and kind. It matched the voice, and despite only having known him a few moments, Tim had already taken to the man. 

“There are a lot of people who’ve worked here since the dawn of time. The institute has institutionalised them, if you will,” he said, holding the door open for them to follow out of the room and along the wood-paneled corridor. “But don’t hold that against them. They’re a good lot- not everyone’s quite as intense as Diana.” 

Martin pointed out different fire exits, lift access to all the floors (“ _Never use the lift, I'm sure people go in and never come out again; the thing is only held together by some sort of magic. Seriously, take the stairs.”)_ the canteen and main break room ( _“There's one on each floor but the one on the library level has the best biscuits and donuts on a Friday.”)._ He introduced them to people as he passed. Tim noticed the way he shrunk in on himself when he entered the library, as if Martin was trying to make himself invisible. 

“Diana that bad?” Tim asked when they silently moved up the stairs to the Research Department.

“She’s just a lot,” Martin sighed, tapping his I.D against the pad that opened the doors to the research floor. So _that_ was what the I.D was for. What were they researching that needed to be kept behind keycard access? 

The research department wrapped around one side of the institute, the long wall of windows overlooked the central courtyard where a large tree sat. A set of steps ran down from each wing into the courtyard, a secluded place fenced in on all sides apart from an access passage that led out into the busy street. Benches had been set around the courtyard, with people gathering there to gossip and smoke. It was a mixed bunch, some more dressed down than others. Tim’s eyes fell upon a man lurking in the passage, tucked away from the rain, his long black coat almost hiding him in the shadows. The man looked up at that point and caught sight of Tim in the window. He glowered, flipping him off with a heavily tattooed hand.

“Charming,” he muttered under his breath as Martin turned to see what he was looking at. “Does he work here?” 

Martin shrugged. “Might be a student, we have open days and they come in to use the library. Diana has a fit because we get a lot of people who don’t fit her idea of an ‘academic.’”

Sasha gave a knowing nod. “Yep, we had some of them where I used to work. You have to fit their narrative or they make it your problem.”

“Diana isn't that bad, she’s just … protective? The library is her baby and god forbid you upset her over it.” Tim watched as the man in the coat disappeared down the passageway. Something was off about him but Tim couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“Anyway,” Martin continued. “This is Artefact Storage, it goes down three levels. You need to have clearance to get in there because it’s a maze and everything is in some sort of preservation state. Personally I avoid the place, it's creepy.”

“Oh wonderful, just what I always wanted: ‘creepy.” Sasha sighed, folding her arms.

“It's ok, Sasha. If it gets too much, you can always transfer to Research and keep me company.”

She nudged him with her hip. “You're on, Stoker. If it becomes too ‘creepy’ I’ll become your problem.”

Tim found himself grinning. “You’ve got a deal.” 

*********

It turned out Sasha lasted exactly three months in Artefact Storage before Tim found her taking up residency at the desk next to his own. He was presented with a spider plant, an offcut of Sasha’s own; it now sat proudly in the sunny spot on his desk in the late October sun. ‘Tiny’ the spider plant currently had a large fake plastic spider with googly eyes perched within its branches. Tim didn’t think he'd manage to keep a houseplant alive longer than a month, but Tiny was hanging in there. He would hate to see Sasha’s face if it died. 

He found himself caring more with each day what Sasha thought. About what Sasha did. About making her smile in the way that made the tight knot sitting in his chest since Danny died unravel just a smidge. 

He couldn’t fall for her. He would be violating his own rules. He would be doing nothing but letting in pain and ruin. He was a disaster of a human who didn’t deserve to be happy. He had no right to be happy when the thing that killed his brother was still out there somewhere, prowling the underworld. 

He told Sasha that, as they huddled in the back of the bar. She listened as he poured his heart out about Danny and nodded in all the right places. Her arm wrapped protectively around his side. 

She listened and she believed him. 

The knot in his chest loosened just a little more.

_Sasha believed him._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon joins the institute.  
> Martin has a secret.  
> Sasha gets even.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the response to the last chapter!  
> This has been such a fun fic to work on so I am happy you all like it!
> 
> Art for this chapter is from the wonderful Sweet--bun.   
> I would say check them out but if you go here you don't need me to tell you how amazing there work is.
> 
> and now on with the story.

[check out sweet--bun on tumblr](https://sweet--bun.tumblr.com/post/636785732324884480/tim-rain-a-little-bit-of-angst-from)

_ ***** _

**_Editor-In-Beef_ **

**_Fiveratsinatrenchcoatplayingpoker asked : Is there any sport or activity that you do to keep in shape? I’m thinking of taking up skateboarding. Will it help me with the ladies?_ **

**_[Image id: picture, showing two teenage boys whose faces have been blurred out, they are surrounded by people, all dressed in a way that would indicate this is the early 2000’s. One of the two blurred out people had his leg in a bright pink cast and the other was holding what remains of a skateboard. The one with the leg in the cast is giving a thumbs up sign, as someone leans in to kiss him on the cheek, face angled away from the camera]_ **

**_A: When I was about fifteen, my brother decided that for some reason learning to ride a plank of wood would be the best idea ever. Five broken bones later and a bevy of lovely ladies behind him, he moved on to other pursuits, but he always says that he excelled when he had a board in his hand. Plus, if you hit out with the ladies, you will have learned a skill that will make it possible to pretend to be Tony Hawk when you try to get a table at a restaurant. I hear nobody recognises him when he goes places… actually, I might utilise that tactic. Do a test run and let me know if it worked._ **

**_XTX_ **

  
  


**_*****_ **

  
  


Tim caught his breath hiding in the library stacks. Escaping from an enraged Sasha had not been on his list of things to worry about today. 

The handbrake turn he did as he walked into his office and saw the look of rage on Sasha's face was something he never wanted to repeat again. He had almost given himself whiplash. 

So apparently he found the line he shouldn’t cross. He would add it to the list of intel he was constantly amassing about his co-workers.

He had hot tailed it down the corridor and up the stairs, nodding at the reception desk as he did so. He barely registered the presence of anyone on his way or the look of disdain Rosie shot as he narrowly avoided toppling over a fern at the foot of the library stairs. Taking refuge in the urban mystery section of the books, tucked in the alcoves between serial killers and hook-men murders, he tried to catch his breath.

He was ashamed of the fact that he had a stitch, that was valid proof that he had let rule #11 fall to the wayside. Self care, when was the last time he had actually gone to the gym? He needed to work on his cardio if that tiny sprint had left him out of breath.

“Are you trying to get yourself banned from the Library? Cause Diana is out for your blood.” Martin made him jump a mile; for such a bulky guy, he moved silent as a mouse sometimes. He leaned over the tower of books stacked on the trolly cart destined for the shelves somewhere in the far recesses of this gargantuan mausoleum of tainted knowledge. Nobody could loom in quite the same way as Martin Blackwood, somehow his height always seemed to be the last thing you noticed about him unless he wanted you to, and right now Tim couldn’t do anything but notice the way he filled all visible space. Tim had to crane his neck from where he was hunched, head tucked to his knees and slowly gaining a stitch from his lack of breath to get the other man’s face in focus.

“She will have to join the waiting list,” he managed to push out between gulping down stale library air.

“Oh, what have you done now?” Martin asked, exasperated.

“Changed all the names of the files on her computer to James Bond film titles?” He tried to hide the smirk, it had been one of his better ideas. He’d been calling Sasha ‘Bond’ for the space of the last month, and it had all come together so brilliantly when she left her computer open and available for tactical sabotage.

Martin shook his head, trying to hide his amusement behind a warning glare; he shot a look to the front desk where Sasha had just vocalised her arrival.

“Come on, move.” He pushed Tim further into the shelves, firm but gentle hands guiding him towards what looked like a storage closet. Tim looked at Martin for an answer but the man had his face set as his eyes danced up the thankfully deserted reading space. The door swung open to show stacks of brown filing crates and catalogue cards. Martin nudged him around the nearest tower and into the room proper. Closing the door behind him, he pointed Tim to a secondary door that stood ajar, tucked out of sight behind the long forgotten abandoned bookcases.

“Quick,” he said as a knock rang out around the room. Tim ducked into the smaller room as Martin grabbed a large pile of discarded catalogue cards and headed back towards the main door. Tim held his breath as he glanced around his new surroundings, listening hard and trying not to make a sound that would give his location away.

The door had opened into a room that was small but cozy. One wall consisted of a small sink unit and a broken coffee table propped up by what looked like trashy paperbacks. A small battered sofa that looked like it had been pulled out of a skip had been placed along the wall next to the door; the bright red hoodie that would normally be wrapped around Martin’s waist was thrown over the far cushion with a notebook cast to the side of it. Everything in the room was positioned to make the most of the view from the long thin vertical window that broke up the solid brick wall. A quick look told Tim it overlooked the courtyard of the institute; he could see the side doors of the records room from here, and if he craned his neck he could probably see his own desk, or at least Tiny the spider plant (who no longer took after his name sake and took up most of the available space) fighting for the slither of sunlight that fell across his desk. 

Tim slipped further into the room as Martin prepared to open the door. What was this place? Was it a janitor’s closet? If so, why did it have a sofa in it and a distinct lack of cleaning supplies? Tim hid from sight behind the propped open door and listened. 

“Hi Diana, Sasha… what can I do for you?” Martin’s voice piped up, sounding genuinely surprised to see the women at the other side of the door.

“Have you seen Tim?” Sasha sounded exceptionally annoyed, hopefully not so annoyed that she would never speak to him again. 

Martin’s voice was calm and measured when he spoke, the urgent rush of a moment before all but gone. “Not since this morning. He checked out the volume of Byzantine architecture he had me track down.”  _ Dramatic pause _ ! _ Oh, he’s good, _ Tim thought as he nodded to himself. “Why, what has he  _ done _ ?” 

The frustrated snort that came from Sasha validated him more than he cared to admit. He knew he was breaking her down and it made that thumping in his chest and the ache in his side worth it. “Well, If you see him... just … tell him he’s a dead man.” She sounded furious. His work was done, if he played this right he would have a date by the end of the week.

“I will be sure to pass on the message if I see him.” Martin chirped in his usual cheerful tone.

“Well, be sure you do.” He could hear her stomping off deeper into the occult reference section. He waited, something told him not to emerge just yet. Sure enough, a few moments later Diana let out a disapproving tut. 

“What are you doing here Martin?” Tim wasn't sure if Diana realised that she sounded like one of the nuns that used to lecture him at school, like she had never had a day of fun in her life.

“Still working through the filing cards on Mr. Bouchard's orders, you know? Digitising them so he can show the collection to the founders on his iPad-”

Diana cut him off. “You’re still working on that?”

“Its over ten thousand books, I’m going as fast as I can but the-”

“Have you-”

“Finished the reshelfing and sent out the recall emails? Yes, all before half eleven this morning. I thought I’d get on with a bit of this before the afternoon rush. Got to keep Mr. Bouchard happy after all, I know he likes things to be just right.” Martin provided with his overly happy tone. Tim was impressed, he couldn’t hear a single trace of the fear that Tim knew Martin felt whenever Diana raised her voice. 

Diana grumbled but seemed to be at a loss of words given Martin's explanation. “Well, just make sure you let us know where you are next time.” Her voice faded as she moved away and the heavy door swung back in place, silencing the room from the gentle background hum of the library. Tim waited a few moments before sticking his head into the main room.

“That true?”

“Nah, made most of it up,” Martin shrugged. “Bouchard did ask me to record the library to a digital catalogue, but I finished that weeks ago. I just come in here to hide from Diana.” He tossed the record cards in his hand onto the nearest pile. “Cuppa?” 

For the first time Tim noticed the tea kettle on the side of the sink. Martin moved towards it now, indicating that Tim should take a seat on the sofa. He busied himself with the small cupboard under the sink, pulling out two mugs and shoving them next to the kettle.

“Oh. Black, one sugar,” Tim said as Martin paused, sugar in hand. “What is this place?”

“Oh found it about a week after being here, I think it was a cleaning closet? The boxes of filing cards were blocking the door, don’t think anyone else knew it was here.”

“So you turned it into a man cave?” 

“No… I made myself a break room, have you ever tried to take a cup of tea through the library?”

He had in fact tried this. It had not ended well on his part. Diana had refused to let him cross the threshold of the place for a week and he ended up having to sit at the front desk like a naughty twelve year old for at least a month. 

“There was no chance in hell I was taking on this lot uncaffeinated,” he indicated the discarded piles. “This place was a hot mess when I came in, it's almost as if they deliberately employ people to do the exact opposite of what they're qualified to do, like nobody knows how to do the job they get paid for. I mean, how hard is it to put things in a numerical order?”

“Exceptionally, when you can’t be arsed with it.” Tim watched Martin as he pottered about making the drinks, his eyes darting from Tim to the window over the courtyard.

“With that attitude I'm surprised you aren't working as a filing clerk.” Martin smiled as he scooped the teabags into the bin without so much as a drop or splash on the countertop. 

“Hey, big boss man was a filing clerk and look where he is now. I reckon you could make it to head of the institute in just a few short years. Degree of yours be damned. ” Martin paused, was his hand shaking as he passed Tim his tea? Tim pressed on anyway. Whatever nerve he had hit, he liked Martin and he didn’t want to upset him for no reason.

“I still dunno what I thought I was gonna do with a B.A in Parapsychology.” Martin shrugged, sinking into the sofa at his side. 

“Same as me and my Anthropology. I wanted to be Indian Jones.” Tim said truthfully as he sipped at his tea.

“How’s that working out for you?”

“Found a fiver the other day that someone had graffitied to look like Amy Winehouse.”

Martin’s eyes lit up as he caught Tim’s gaze over the top of his own cup, and when he spoke his delivery was so deadpan it took a moment for Tim to process what he was saying. “Oh, well. Obviously it was a lost Banksy, it belongs in a museum.”

Martin’s laugh was infectious when it started, a warm thing that ran through you engulfing you with it’s own sort of hug. Tim found himself pulled into its grasp as the laughter took hold of him alongside. 

“How about you? Find any haunted books? Any full body apparitions scared out the post grads? Have you fired up the old proton pack? Is the light green, the trap clean?”

Martin was looking at him, face twisted in confusion, then the penny dropped. 

“Oh… Ghostbusters. I thought you meant… well, never mind.”

“Thought I meant what?” Intrigue had grabbed him now, making him want to pursue this new line of questioning.

“Nothing….”

“Martin. You can’t do that to a man, you tease.” Martin flushed. “How do you even start studying for a parapsychology degree anyway? Isn’t it all orbs and ESP? It’s a long way from that to digitising a catalogue list.”

Martin shifted uncomfortably under Tim’s gaze, his tea suddenly became incredibly interesting as he tried to hide his face behind the flop of his hair.

“Martin? What is it?”

“Nothing.” 

“Why don’t I believe you?” Tim sat closer than he needed on the sofa, nudging Martin’s knee with his own. Something was bothering him and he didn’t know what. “We’re friends. You do know you can tell me stuff, yeah?”

Eventually Martin nodded, sipping at the cup cradled in his hand. 

“Want to talk about it?”

Martin shook his head, staring out the window at the tree as it blew in the wind. He sighed, turning to face Tim, his bright green eyes sparkling with mischief now. “First you tell me what's going on with you and Sasha, then...then I’ll tell you my dirty little secret.” He held out a hand. “You have to promise not to tell anyone.” Tim took the other man's hand; that was the sort of deal he couldn’t refuse. 

“I won’t tell a soul.”

*****

**_Editor-In-Beef_ **

**_Anonymous asked : How do I politely ask someone why they are sexy?_ **

**_A: Depends on what kind of sexy, I suppose. Do they know they're sexy? Will they punch you in the face if you think they are sexy and tell them? Will they be offended by the idea of being ‘Sexy’? Don’t get me wrong, I have no fear when it comes to flirting, but read your room first. What is it you find sexy about them? Do you need to ask?_ **

**_Rule number 2: Respect._ ** **_It sits quite well as a precursor to_ ** **_Rule Number 4: Will this get me punched in the face?_ **

**_But if you have to ask, they are not infact sexy and they are trying too hard. Do yourself a favour and move on. Anyone who works that hard to be perfect is not worth the time and the energy. Narcissism is a dangerous thing. Stay well clear._ **

**_XTX_ **

******

“You’re not Sasha.”

“Very astute of you.” 

Okay, not a good start. Who was this random person working on Sasha’s computer? With his pressed shirt and fancy waistcoat- was that a pocket watch? Had he walked straight out of the set of Peaky Blinders? Had the institute started renting out the office space to HBO and he had walked in on some sort of period set piece?

This guy had to be an actor, nobody looked that serious. Had this man ever cracked a smile? All signs pointed to no.

“So, who are you?” Tim prompted, placing the flat white he had brought in for Sasha at the side of her desk. The Man looked at him briefly before turning back to the monitor. 

“Jonathan Sims.” He addressed the computer instead of Tim, tapping away on the keyboard, eyes tracing the text on the screen. 

Was this a plant? A fake Shemp placed here by Sasha to catch him off guard? Was this Sasha’s idea of retribution for meddling with her files? Seemed like a rather elaborate hoax. But he wouldn’t put it past her to try to bribe someone from one of the other departments to play along with one of her ideas. As far as personality and charm went, the woman had it in spades. He knew when he was matched on that front.

Sasha’s jacket hung in the corner. Her umbrella puddled water on the floor where it stood in the rack. She had been here and not all that long ago. So maybe this was a joke? Not a very good one, but still.

“Normally when someone introduces themself, the other person introduces themselves back,” the man muttered to himself as he typed away.  _ Snarky little bastard, aren't you? _ Tim thought as he cast his eyes back at the desk in front of him, suddenly aware that his coat was dripping a puddle around him on the already too musty and ancient carpet. 

“You still haven’t told me who you are?” Tim didn’t move.

“Jonathan Sims.” the man repeated

“Yes, that's your name but… who are you? As in, why are you sitting in Sasha’s desk?” Tim spat out; he really didn’t like this. 

“Calm down, Sherlock.” Sasha’s voice made him jump. “Oh, is that for me?” She scooped up the coffee from her desk before grabbing her guest chair and sliding in beside the man who called himself Jonathan Sims. “Do you need a parking space?” she addressed the other man as she pointed at something on the screen.

“Is that even a thing in central London?”

“Nope, but I’m sure Elias just uses that as a tax deductible expense or something. No idea where you would even park around here. Unless he's got some secret layer under the institute we don’t know about? Maybe he turned some of that old prison of yours into an underground car park, Tim? Reckon you could fit a Nissan Micra in a jail cell?” The last part was directed at Jonathan, who at least had the cognizance to look confused.

“I um…”

“Sorry Jonathan, let's get this filled in before I start with my conspiracy theories.” Sasha leaned towards the computer again, wearing what Tim assumed she thought was her friendly approachable face. “If you're just getting the tube or the overground in, just leave that blank or you will get nothing but car pool requests. Trust me, there are a lot of weirdos that you do not want to get in a car with in this place.”

“Hold on, I could have a parking spot?” Tim piped up, placing his coffee down on the desk.

“Case in point,” Sasha sighed and he almost heard the eyeroll that went alongside her words.

He just wanted to know what was going on and the longer it took them to tell him, the worse the bog of eternal stench that was forming in the carpet would become. He should really let it go and lose the coat before he started sinking through to the floorboards via the puddle that was forming around his feet. Sasha was ignoring him and he knew she was just doing it out of petty revenge. He was no better than her when it came to needing to know what was going on around him.

“Ok, will someone please tell me what is happening?” 

“Oh, sorry Tim, Jonathan is our new researcher,” Sasha said sipping on her coffee. She swung from side to side on her chair, confident in the fact that she had gotten to him. This back and forth was going to be the death of him, it was just as well he had a soft spot for the woman. “Just doing the induction. You know, the thing you daydreamed through or you would have known about the car parking?”

So Jon was a new researcher. He gave him another once over; he wasn’t bad looking, still seemed like a bit of an arse. He would break him down over time- the Stoker charm got everyone eventually. Apart from Rosie and that one guy from the archives with the pyromaniac tendencies. He had even won around Ben who worked in the I.T. department and he hated everyone.

“Hold on. Who left this time? Tegan? Marcie? Was it Nicky? Oh it wasn’t Nicky, was it? We were going to go cave diving in the summer, I was so close…”

“Nobodys leaving, Romeo, your work is safe,” Sasha hushed him from her desk. “Apparently Elias just thinks we needed another set of hands about the place, you obviously haven't been pulling your own weight.”

“I resent that… and after I bought you a Pret? I’m wounded.” He faked being stabbed and fell back against his own desk dramatically. From behind Sasha, Jonathan was watching from the corner of his eye. Tim felt like he was being sized up and was beginning to think this Jonathan might be a direct threat. He threw his best puppy dog eyes at Sasha, trying to get her to grovel an apology that he knew she would never give him without a fight.

“I’m just saying, since you started your department has tripled in size; it's roughly the size of your ego now.” She didn’t fall for it.

“Sash, not in front of the newbie.” He put on his best Elias impression. “Let's at least pretend for a week that I am an exemplary employee before you expose my failure, or I'll get you transferred back to Artefact Storage.”

“Idle threat. You don’t know how to submit your business expense forms without supervision.” she turned her attention back to the form open on her screen.

Jonathan sat beside her and if he was listening he didn’t indicate in the way he schooled his face. If he was this intense filling in a personnel file, what was he going to be like when he got thrown in the deep end of the research pile? 

He moved towards his own desk now, noting the large battered book on the history of traveling carnivals had been deposited there at some point since he had been in last. It sat atop a bunch of statements that he had requested from the archives almost a month ago. Martin must have been in at some point since he left on Friday to drop off the book. The things requested from the archives tended to just appear. He wasn’t sure anyone worked down there; the emails and requests vanished into the void never to be seen again. Yet every so often he would find files on his desk with a passive aggressive post-it note attached.  _ Better late than never, _ he supposed. 

He picked up the book, smiled at the much more cheerful post-it note attached to it, and stuck the crudely drawn picture of a dog to his work PC . Maybe Martin should go down to the archives and show them the way it was done.

“I thought Martin was incharge of the inductions?” He said, suddenly processing the information Sasha had spouted during his bout of confusion and ignorance.

“He’s out for the day, something to do with a family emergency? Diana asked me to step up and show Jonathan the ropes. It sucks to be you, what are you going to do without your two o’clock tea if your tea boy is out?”

“Die. Obviously.” The rain had seeped through his coat; he was freezing, he could really have done with one of Martin’s cuppas. When he hung his coat and looked down, his shirt had darkened where the rain had sodden it through. 

He could feel Sasha’s eyes on him as he untucked the button down, debating if it was worth the risk of stripping down to his vest and shoving it over the old storage radiator in the corner. Sasha would reprimand him for it no doubt, but it had to be better than catching his death of cold. Sasha’s attention was on him, and despite what he had told himself time and time again, he really rather liked it. He didn’t know how to feel about this handsome interloper. He had grown accustomed to the comfortable silences between him and Sasha as they researched, the way the sun pulled out the mahogany highlights in Sasha’s long twisting hair as they ate lunch in the courtyard, the way she would yawn sleepy and unguarded as the week came to an end, tucking her feet under her and curling in on herself in the office chair. All things he found he didn’t want to share with this new Jonathan.

_ Rule #7, Timothy. _ If he kept repeating it in his head he might survive this place, but the weight of Sasha’s gaze on him as he undid the buttons of his shirt and replaced it with the hoodie from the coat rack was laden with not yet earned regrets.

Taking his seat he shot a cursory glance over to the other desk. Sasha had averted her eyes back to the screen, but her cheeks had darkened high up under her glasses, her normally composed face compromised with a slight tint and barely concealed smile. 

In his chest his heart raced. He was an idiot. There was no way that this didn’t end in his heart getting broken. Best to keep pushing that idea down till it no longer poked its head up to try and test the water. 

_ Distract yourself Tim, _ he thought as he pulled a half-worked research file towards him.  _ Remember why you joined the institute, remember why you’re here.  _

Sasha kept shooting glances in his direction as he read over the file, sipping at his coffee to keep his free hand busy. It worked well until he took a sip and nothing was left at the bottom of the paper cup. Why was this becoming an issue? How had Sasha snuck under his skin? The longer he worked with her the more he realized he trusted her, something he didn’t think he was capable of. Not since Danny. 

He was staring again. Sasha leaning over the new recruit seemed not to notice, her concentration focused on teaching Jonathan the stupidly complicated case number system and how to request admin documents from other departments. Jonathan was listening intently, taking notes as she spoke, nodding in the correct places as Sasha explained the intricacies of the antiquated system.

Eventually Sasha spotted him staring, returning the involuntary smile with an accusing one of her own. 

“Tim, how about you show Jonathan the general layout of the place?” Sasha asked holding his eye contact for just a moment longer than need be.

“Abandoning your ward this early in?” he questioned, but he was already on his feet. He needed to distance himself from Sasha, just until his mind was his own again. She twisted her face in an unamused frown, but Tim had already crossed the room, joining Jonathan at his side and nodding towards the corridor. Plastering what he liked to think of as his people-pleasing smile, he headed out of the office, new coworker in tow.

“So Jonathan. Important question. How good are you at making tea?”

  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon makes a fuzzy friend.  
> Martin takes a leaf out of Tim's playbook.  
> Sasha does a little lie and Tim is a mountain man.

**_******_ **

**Editor-In-Beef**

**_Aseaboundsoul asked:_ **

**_My husband had been cheating on me with someone who is old enough to be his grandfather. I'm away at sea for long periods of time, and I don't begrudge him a little fun, but what is the best way to get back at him for lying about it?_ **

**_A: You spend half the time away? You don’t mind the act but the lies about it are a little too much?_ **

**_May I suggest the tried and tested method of shrimp or prawns down the back of the radiator? It will take a few days for the smell to kick in and you will be out at sea by then, leaving your husband to wonder what that strange smell is. You can rest assured that no late night visitors will be dropping in with a strange fishy aroma knocking around the place._ **

**_XMrTX_ **

**_******_ **

  
  


“What's that smell?” Jon looked up from behind his laptop, sniffing the air. He turned his head in the direction of Tim who had just walked in, arms holding a brown paper bag that seemed to be oozing some sort of brown substance that seeped through the wrapper.

“Got some stuff from the butchers.” Tim could feel Jon’s eyes on him as he crossed the room towards the tiny walkway that led out to the courtyard. 

Jon got up to follow him.

The courtyard was at least blocked off from the horrendous wind that had been biting at ankles and messing up hair for the better part of the week, though it hadn’t been impenetrable to the snow that now sat thick and deep around the base of the bare branched tree. Jon’s curiosity was getting the better of him and despite the gently falling snow he followed Tim down the steps and across to the pile of boxes near the recycling bins.

“What are-”

Tim cut him off with a shushing motion. Unwrapping the containers in his hand, he placed them down on the floor and stepped back. 

Jon looked at him, confused, until the sound of sniffing filled the air and a scrappy alley cat crawled out the box to sniff at the leftovers, it was followed swiftly by a canine companion. The dog hung back waiting for the cat to have its fill before moving in to lap up the last remnants of the beef stew from the butcher.

Tim watched the way Jon’s face cracked into a smile at the sight of the cat as it wound around his feet and headbutted at his ankles. 

Tim had been so sure that Jon just didn’t have the ability to smile that the sight of it threw him slightly. He hadn’t seen him smile  _ once  _ since he started in research two months ago, and although he was always pleasant when asked a question, the man never instigated conversation, preferring to eat alone at his desk rather than socialise in the canteen or with Sasha and himself in the breakroom. 

“Aren't you adorable?” Jon reached out to pet the cat, its head came up to bump at his hand as he scratched it behind the ear. 

“Thanks, I try.” Tim joked, but it fell flat as Jon pursed his lips, turning his attention back to the feline that mewed for more attention.

“The cat, Tim.”

“I know that, but you can't blame a man for trying.” That at least caused the corners of Jon’s lips to turn up in something that you could call a smile, if you had never seen one in person and only read about them in books. 

It would do. 

He wanted to be this man's friend. He hated to see him on his own so much, and he always looked so bloody tired. He could do with a little more happiness in his life. 

Tim could almost see Jon relax as he stroked at the moggy’s fur, twisting his hands through the long matted mess and across tufts and patches of scar tissue from one fight to many. He found himself helplessly enraptured with the charm of this side of Jon, fussing and chattering away to the newly christened Captain Chonk. 

Because of this, Tim let the man stay out in the bitter cold a little longer than he had anticipated. It wasn’t until the snow started bleaching down around them, pooling in mucky sludge around their feet, did he usher Jon back inside with a promise of tea and some Jaffa cakes. 

Sasha had returned when they got back from the breakroom. She observed them over the top of the pile of storage boxes that teetered on her desk, a knowing look on her face as Tim tried to steal her electric heater from below her desk. She watched as he moved over and set it next to Jon’s desk aiming it towards the man who had now dissolved back into his work, the smile still etched on his face.

As Tim took his seat at his own desk, warming his hands on the warmth from his mug, he shot a glance at Sasha as a sudden movement caught his eye. She ducked behind the boxes out of Jon’s field of view. 

“Do you fancy Jon?” she mouthed, eyebrows almost disappearing into her hat as her eyes blew wide. This observation seemed to have brought some sort of new found delight, this was going to fuel her imagination no end. Tim could almost already feel the relentless teasing that was beginning to form in Sasha’s mind. 

He pulled out his phone. 

**To Sasha (Bond): Quiet you, you know you're the only work related hottie I’ve got time for.**

Sasha looked down to her phone as it vibrated on the desk, rolling her eyes she pretended to clutch at her heart and faint, before blowing him an air kiss.

He averted his eyes to his desk, glad beyond doubt that he had never been the type of person to blush. He knew she was just messing about, he should expect it. Nobody would take his word when he told them things like that. After all, he was a renowned flirt, why would Sasha think he was serious? At least if she thought he was joking he might get out of this without his feelings getting completely destroyed.

*******

“Normal people have a social life.” 

“And not everyone socialises like you, Tim.” 

“I’m just saying he could have come out for a drink just this one time.” 

Tim held the door to the pub open for Sasha as she ducked under his arm, shaking the water from her umbrella as she did so. The rain was still coming down in torrents outside and it showed no sign of giving up any time soon. 

London weather. It was either so unbearably hot that the tarmac on the road would stick to your shoes or raining so hard that you couldn’t see the aforementioned road because London had just gained a new river. Tim was not sure what one he preferred.

The warmth of the bar called to him, its cosy Victorian architecture with its exposed beams and brickwork lit by low hanging lights had not yet been gentrified like most of the pubs in the area, and it was far enough away from work that very few people they knew would be in the dirty barrels, even on a Friday night. 

They found Martin in their usual seat, tucked to the back of the building near an open fireplace, his head bent over a notebook and half drunk pint on the table. They had invited Jon, but yet again he had refused the offer, choosing to stay back and continue working on the latest research task that had fallen on his desk as the day had come to an end.

Elias had a habit of wanting things at the worst possible time, but at least Jon had the will to stay behind to get the work done. Tim had almost told Elias to shove it several times when the lime green folder, straight from the bosses desk, landed on his own. It was always just as they were about to leave for the day, and tonight had not been any different. 

He would have stayed, heaven knows that Jon looked like he needed some company, but he had promised Martin that he would meet him for a pint after work, and out of the two of them, Martin was the easiest problem child to deal with. Martin, at least, had an easy issue that Tim could at least do something about. Tim could help take his mind off his mother. 

His mother who, yet again, had been taken into hospital and was refusing to speak to him. 

The more that Tim found out about Martin, the more the man seemed to fascinate him. And the more he hated the elusive Mrs. Blackwood. 

There was absolutely no reason for Martin to have such a positive outlook on life and see the good in people, when people like his own mother were constantly vile to him. Martin’s positive mental attitude was a good playmate with his own quest for positivity, he hated to see that hopefulness dull in the other man’s eyes. Maybe he could see some of Danny’s personality in him? Whatever it was it made Tim want to protect him, or at least do his best to stop that spark from fading. 

Sasha excused herself to go to the bar as Tim jostled Martin from his thoughts, placing Sasha’s umbrella against the brickwork and sliding on to the old velvet barstool across the table. Martin blinked a few times before nodding in acknowledgment as Sasha rejoined them with a round. She took the stool closest to the open fire and warmed her hands on the heat that radiated into the small nook they had staked a claim on.

“Stop hogging the warmth, James.” Tim grabbed her stool, pulling it towards him. Sasha wrapped her arms around his neck to stop herself from falling as the wooden leggs scratched across the stone floor. From the corner of his vision he could see Martin rolling his eyes, but his face changed from the gloomy grimace that had been upon it to something that could almost look like amusement, as long as you didn’t study it too hard.

“This is unfair. Tell him, Martin, tell him how unfair it is.” Sasha protested as she tried to shuffle her stool closer to the fire, Tim hooked his foot under the bottom rung and held it in place, trying his hardest not to laugh at the completely disgruntled look that Sasha gave him. 

She jabbed him in the shoulder, “I’m freezing, let me warm up!” She pressed one of her long painted nails through Tim’s hoodie and his shirt, pointy against his collarbone. She was freezing, he could feel the cold coming off her, the thin cardigan she wore over her dress didn’t look like it offered much in the way of warmth and both their jackets now hung on the coat rack dripping a puddle that almost rivaled the umbrella’s small lake it was cultivating below it.

“Boy Scout 101, don’t sit too close to the fire, you warm up wrong.” 

Sasha cocked an unbelieving eyebrow at him.

“It’s true! Plus it’s rubbish for your skin, dries it out, makes you all blotchy.” He nodded knowingly. 

“I very much doubt you were a Boy Scout.” Sasha sank defeated into her chair, arms folded and pouting. Tim tried to ignore how his heart raced a little at the wide eyed gaze that danced in the firelight. Sasha James had no right to be invading his heart like this, right under his own nose, setting up camp like some sort of nerdy angel sent to infiltrate him and rip down the walls he had carefully crafted. 

“Ok, confession… I wasn’t a Boy Scout-”

“I knew it!”

“-but I was a Beaver.” Tim finished with a flourish, just as Martin snorted half of his pint laughing at the cavalcade of expressions that Sasha contorted her face into. Tim’s heart lurched to hear them both laughing, it felt good to make others happy. Maybe this was what he needed himself more than he had thought. 

“Did little Timmy have a woggle?” Martin asked when he finally righted himself, the look of anguish had subsided somewhat, replaced now with the mischievous smile that was working its way under Tim's skin. 

"Laugh all you want but it's made me into the finely tuned example of manhood you see before you. I see a mountain, I climb it. Rivers bend to my very will. Fire is mine to command!"

"Alright, Gandalf, keep your shirt on." Sasha grinned across at him. "We've all seen you in your wetsuit, we have Instagram." 

Tim huffed into his pint. "You might have it, but did you like my post… no. That's grounds for a friendship divorce. We are ex-friends. Sorry Sash, the rules of the Internet dictate it." Beside him Sasha pulled out her phone and began tapping away. In his pocket, Tim's phone vibrated. 

"Too late. You signed the divorce papers. There's no friendship here. Martin’s my work spouse now. You know what you did." He reached for his pint as Sasha dissolved into laughter against his shoulder. He let her hug in to him and steal some of his warmth. She needed it and it was nice, he liked the way it felt, her head dipped against him, her hands tugging at his arm…

"I want a prenup." Martin interjected from the depths of his pint, grin spreading like wildfire pooling in the light cast from the crackling fireplace. 

Tim nodded and answered without even missing a beat in his tirade of feigned disappointment. "Anything for you my love. My ex-wife was a monster…wouldn't even come away with me for one little weekend in the lakes…" 

"You asked me at 3pm on a Friday, Timothy." Sasha sulked, slapping playfully at his chest almost up ending his pint.

“Exactly, that’s plenty of time.” He replied, looking down at her where she had now placed her chin on his shoulder ear to ear as she looked across to Martin for support.

“Tell him we can’t just all drop our lives to go kayaking will you?” she pleaded. 

Tim felt the words vibrate as she spoke, he concentrated on not losing his pint down the front of his shirt. 

Despite the impression he pushed out into the world, he was rubbish when it actually came down to romance and relationships himself. He wished he could get Sasha to take him seriously. 

“I mean she has a point.” 

“Don’t you take her side, you're supposed to support your husband in his endeavours.” He was getting ganged up on and he really didn’t mind, for the first time in forever he felt like he actually belonged to something, to someone. 

“Well, how about I give you five weeks notice?” he threw out to the room in general.

“For what?”

“Five weeks warning for an impromptu trip, I will even make it a glamping one. No tents, I will even put out for an actual bathroom so you don’t have to shit in the woods.” 

Sasha and Martin exchanged glances.

“I’m up for it if you are?” Sasha questioned, finally taking her chin off Tim’s shoulder so she could reach her own pint. “As long as you promise not to do some sort of bushtucker trial. I am not eating any sort of insect or arachnid.”

Martin’s face dropped.

“Look what you did! You upset my spouse, don’t talk about his pet spiders like that. It’s ok honey bunny, the nasty Sasha will not be eating any of our children.” He reached out and patted Martin's hand across the table. “You’re gonna come, yeah?”

The world had shrunk down to just the three of them, warm and safe in the back room of a London pub. If Jon had been here it would have been Tim’s idea of perfect, maybe he could convince Jon to tag along with them too? He looked hopefully at Martin, and this time the pleading look was one hundred percent genuine.

“Saying no would feel like kicking a puppy.” Martin sighed. “How do you say no to that face?” Sasha nudged at Tim’s side, almost knocking him off his stool.

“Practice.” she grinned as he reached out to grab her to stop his descent to the floor.

“So you’ll come?” Tim asked hopefully. 

Across the table his friends exchanged knowing glances, as if confirming some sort of secret agreement. 

He tried not to get his hopes up when they both said yes, after all a lot could happen in five weeks. 

  
  


******

**_Editor-In-Beef_ **

**_This seemed better on paper asked:_ **

**_Fun ideas for a first date?_ **

**_A: Not the pictures, the cinema is the worst for a first date. You wanna get to know that person and you can’t do that sitting in the dark for two hours, despite what Hollywood will tell you._ **

**_Once I took a date to the trocadero, nothing tells you more about a person than how they play house of the dead and dance dance revolution. He was a nice guy, no sense of rhythm. I think he has a youtube channel now talking about rocks._ **

**_But you get what I’m saying to play to your strong points. And do your research, you wouldn’t take a person who hates snakes to the reptile house at london zoo right? But you would take a harry potter fan and drop in the film reference. Show you care._ **

**_XMrTX_ **

  
  
  


Sasha’s face was set, her eyes glued on the stone outcrop, her hands covered with chalk from the small bag that hung on her waist. 

The rope was slack, Sasha seemed to be a natural at this, traversing the rocks like some sort of wild woman. 

Tim lent against the branch half way up the climbing trail wedged between it and an overcrop that would be the last part of there assent, below him Sasha glared at the grade two grip that was just out of her reach.

“Want a hand?” he called down to her as she swayed, building up momentum for the leap. 

A leap she took and almost missed. Tim felt the rope slip in his harness as it tightened around Sasha. Her fingers slid across the rubbley surface, body jerking around until her chin bumped the ledge near Tim’s foot, her body now pressed tight against the rock.

“You okay?”

“Just peachy,” she mumbled, pulling herself up to balance on the root system of the tree he sat upon. He had to admit she was putting in a good effort, he wasn’t entirely convinced she hadn’t done this before.

“Martin would never have managed this.” She sighed as she took the hand offered, pulling herself up onto the outcrop. Tim locked out his arm so she could hold on to him and she sank into the space like it had been built to hold her.

“I think he would have been fine. He's got the upper body strength of the hulk that man, don’t be fooled.” 

Sasha slid into his side. It felt nice, that warmth shielding him from the brisk biting northern wind. He told himself that was all it was, not the fact that it was Sasha. Sasha, who looked windswept and gorgeous even in tracksuit bottoms and a hoodie, mud and climbing chalk smeared across her chin and cheek where she had rubbed at the point of collision. 

Tim was smitten, he had to admit it to himself, here halfway up an outcrop somewhere in the middle of nowhere. He couldn’t keep lying to himself about the way he felt for this woman protectively tucked in at his side. 

“What?”

_ Smooth, Stoker. Staring is such a give away, you idiot.  _ He cast his eyes back to the rope and away from the speck of dirt next to Sasha’s left eye that had been holding him captive. He pulled the ropes taut but Sasha reached out, placing her hand over his and squeezing, signaling for him to halt the climb.

“Can we just rest a moment?” she questioned. 

He relaxed his grip, looking up to meet her eye again. “I'm enjoying the view.” The smile creeped upon her face. Tim tried to ignore the darkening of the skin high on Sasha’s cheeks putting it down to the icy chill blowing in on the wind, but Sasha seemed determined to not break eye contact, staring him down with a penetrating gaze.

“It’s not much of a view staring at me Sash.”

“I know what I said.” She wrinkled up her face. “God that was pathetic,” she muttered to herself looking down at the rope in his hand. 

Tim wrapped the rope around his wrist, freeing his hand to tuck it under Sasha’s chin and angle her face up towards his.

“Not up to your usual standards, no.” Were his hands shaking? How was he supposed to proceed here? This was so far out of his usual comfort zone, he was entering uncharted waters. The way he felt about Sasha was far more complex than any of his previous attachments, what did he want from this? What did she want from this? What he wouldn’t give to have Danny to talk to, to have someone tell him to take his own advice. This was Sasha: sweet, clever, funny and so goddamn pretty. She was his friend. She was quickly becoming his best friend, he didn’t want to fuck that up. 

Sasha blinked first. Just as the first splash of rain hit her square in the face. 

“Come on, we best get a move on, or we will be soaked through before we get back to the hut.” 

Whatever had been hanging in the air between them burned electric as he moved to release the rope and move around her to drop towards the ground. 

Sasha, as it turned out, was not as good at getting down as she was climbing up. 

The drop was not a large one but Tim found himself hovering close to her all the way down, guiding her hands as they made the last part of the descent as the rain got gradually heavier and heavier around them. Placing his hands behind her, he lifted her from the last ledge as she struggled to find the grips, her glasses flooded out with rain water and fogging up from her own breath.

“My hero,” she huffed as she pressed herself into him as he lifted the last few inches to the now muddy floor. 

“So much for it not raining today!” Tim complained just as a flash of lightning lit up the sky, followed soon after by a peel of thunder that shook their very bones. 

Sasha jumped, burying herself further on to Tim’s chest. Tim tried his hardest not to think about it. But still his arms came up to hold her of their own accord. It felt nice to let her in like this, to hold her close and protect her from the horrors of the world.

“Come on, we need to get a move on,” she said, wriggling free of his grip and starting on the rope tied to her harness. 

Tim moved quickly, unhooking her and helping her out of her safety rigging before turning on himself with just as much haste. The rain was getting steadily heavier and heavier and the thunder sounded closer with each new rumble that rolled across the sky. 

He tried to steady the beat of his heart as it raced in his chest, it all but imploded with the effort as Sasha took his hand in her own as they raced towards the car.

The fire crackled in the pit, the rain pounding down on the corrugated iron roof of the shelter echoed around them. On the other side of the fire, Sasha sat cocooned in a blanket, a hot chocolate topped with whisky wrapped in her hands. Tim poked at the fire, throwing another log on. Turning the sausages that sizzled away in the pan he was more than a little aware of the pigs that stared at him accusingly from the sty at the end of the field. Sasha laughed at him as he gave a guilty look into the night in the sty’s general direction. 

“Growing an ethical conscience Timothy?” 

“Do you want food or not?” 

“Yes, I'm starving, hurry up!” she shouted from the swing seat where she looked warm and cosy and Tim longed to crawl under the blanket with her. 

“So demanding.”

“Oh you have no idea. Hurry up and feed me, Seymour.” She sipped on her drink, attention turning to the phone that had just buzzed to life beside her. In his pocket, Tim felt his own vibrate against his leg. Fishing it from his pocket, he brought it to life. 

***From Forest (M.B): How’s it going? Have you said anything to her yet?**

Tim stared at the text, looking up at Sasha who was typing away on her own phone, had Martin texted her too? Tim had a feeling that Martin had ducked out of the trip with malicious intent, or at least ulterior motives. 

***To Forest ( M.B): No and I’m not going to, despite what you think NOTHING is going on…**

He had hardly had time to turn the screen black when the thing pinged awake again.

***From Forest (M.B): Bollocks and you know it!!!!!**

Tim shoved the phone deep in his pocket, turning his attention back to the food. He didn’t need Martin poking at this. He could take care of himself, and he didn’t need any sort of romantic relationship advice from Captain Singleton getting in the way. 

As he brought the food to Sasha and slid on to the swing chair at her side , she shoved her phone under the blankets, her attention now completely on him. 

“Martin says to stop ignoring him, and that you're an idiot. I mean, where's the lie?” 

“Harsh but fair.” He nodded in agreement, placing the sausage butties on the small table that had been carved out of an old tree stump before them. In the same movement Sasha threw the blanket around his shoulders, inviting him into her bubble of warmth. She shuffled further along the bench till she was sat with her knees practically curled into Tims lap. Cautiously, he placed his hand over her calf, relaxing only when she leaned in to him more, reaching out to help herself to something to eat.

“So…” she spoke slowly as she picked at the bun, her eyes cast down as she ate. 

Tim picked at his own sandwich, his brain suddenly unable to concentrate on anything but how close Sasha now sat, snuggled under the blanket as the rain poured down around them. This had taken a turn, this was never meant to be a romantic getaway. Despite the knowing look the farmer had given them when they had called in to the house to get the key to the glamping hut.

It had been booked for three. Martin was supposed to be with them, this wasn’t supposed to happen. That was why he had invited Martin in the first place…

_ Blackwood played you at your own game,  _ Tim thought as the radio changed over to some soft rock ballad that Tim had heard Martin hum time and time again. He could feel Sasha watching him as he ate. It wasn’t weird, it just felt different. 

He had tried so hard to avoid it just being the two of them ever since he had realised that maybe, just maybe, he had feelings for her. 

But now, well, thanks to Martin, they were alone in a field, about half an hour away from civilization in most directions. It couldn’t have been better if he had planned it, and it was the exact situation he had been trying to avoid.

Rule number seven was struck so firmly off the list now that the pen had gone through the paper and dug a hole into the desk below. 

He gazed at the fire, it spluttered and sparked when rain occasionally dripped through the roof. His thumb traced the curve of Sasha’s calf as she rested her head on his shoulder, humming along to the radio.

“That’s nice,” she sighed as Tim ran his thumb along the dip of her ankle. “I don’t think rock climbing agreed with my constitution.” 

“I dunno, I think you did pretty well for a first shot.”

“Confession time, I’ve done it before, when I was a kid. The school took us on an outward bounds course. I just didn’t tell you cause you looked so excited to finally get one of us out here with you.” When he looked down she turned her head to face him. “It was nice to see you genuinely smiling, I didn’t want you to stop on my account.” 

“So you knew how to tie off …” he said slowly, remembering how he had held her close, wrapping his arms around her to show her where the ropes were supposed to go. Running his hands over her thighs as he helped her buckle in her harness had been agonising torture and a lesson in self control all rolled in to one.

“Yeah… but you were so focused, the way you looked at me… it was nice… it was intense…” Her eyes were searching his now, he could see her fighting with something in her own mind, under his hand her leg shuddered as he ran his thumb over the bare skin between her joggers and her sock. It sent his mind into a spiral. 

She shifted, pulling the blanket with her as she swung over to pull herself in to his knee. His hands moved automatically to her waist, as he held her steady, the swing swaying under the sudden movement. Sasha was staring now, eyes fixed on his lips, fire dancing in them where it caught as they swayed, rain falling all around them but the two of them safe and warm in the cocoon of the blanket. 

Tim couldn’t have resisted if he had tried as Sasha lent down and placed a chase kiss against his lips, her hands coming up to hold his face. 

“Sasha…” 

“Just…”

She twisted her hand into his hair, pulling him up towards her and he went willingly. This was such a stupid idea, his rules were being thrown out the window left right and center; but he found himself allowing Sasha to pull him into another kiss, this time he let himself get carried away in the sensation. The sound of the rain pounding down around them barley masked the pounding of his heart as he pulled Sasha in towards him, greedily pulling at her waist where his hand found purchase. 

He was trying desperately not to read too much into this, but he wanted to with every inch of him. 

The way he felt about her had grown so strong over the time they had worked together, Sasha was slowly becoming the center of his own little universe.

Sasha pulled out of the kiss, resting her head against his, eyes closed and lips bruised. He moved a hand to cup her face, trailing her lips with his thumb before he spoke. 

“Sasha,” he sighed against her forehead, gently placing a kiss on the now warmed through skin, “Are you sure about this?” 

She flicked her eyes open, tipping his chin down so she could look him in the eye. 

“This might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. But I’m sure about it.” She wrapped herself tighter in the blanket that had slipped from her shoulders, making sure that Tim stayed wrapped up too, safe, warm and protected from the terrors of the world around them. “Take me to bed, or lose me forever,” she whispered in his ear. 

“Did you just Top Gun me?” He laughed, picking her up. 

“Maybe.” She laughed into his neck as he walked them to the hut, her legs wrapped around his waist and the blanket almost tripping him as it slipped from their shoulders onto the muddy ground. 

“Nerd.”

“Takes one to know one,” she said, trailing kisses up his neck as he tried to open the door.

“Touche,” he muttered as he tried to get purchase on the handle behind Sasha’s back, his mind focused so intently on the spot she had found just below his ear. 

In his pocket his phone vibrated. No doubt Martin checking up on developments. Why did Tim get the feeling he had been well and truly played at his own game?

******

**Editor-In-Beef**

**_The book was better asked:_ **

**_How do you deal with rejection?_ **

**_A: Galently and like a gentleman. Remember you don’t know what the other person is going through. Follow rule_ ** **_number 3, don’t be a dick._ ** **_Sometimes it’s gonna hurt. Sometimes you will be able to look back at it and laugh. But if it wasn’t to be it wasn’t to be. No need to be a dick about it._ **

**_XMrTX_ **

  
  


Waking up with Sasha in his arms was everything he daydreamed about and more. 

She was tucked into his side, drinking up the heat that radiated off him. One arm was wrapped across his chest and the other wedged behind his head, pinned underneath his pillow where their hands were still twisted together. It wasn’t comfortable but it was perfect. He would cherish this moment for everything it was worth. One pure moment of happiness tapped and scraped from the avalanche of darkness that had been his life the last few years. 

In his arms, Sasha stirred, her hair tickling against his nose, her limbs stretching out to shake her muscles awake. He catalogued it all; he wanted to remember this, keep it safe, his beacon of light in the dark.

“Morning, tiger.” He said affectionately, pulling her in close with the arm behind her back. 

Sasha blinked up at him, her eyes adjusting to focus on him at close range. She looked rested and sleep worn and the feeling of longing grew tenfold in his chest.

She smiled at him, drowsily pulling him closer, fingers tightening on his own beneath the pillow under his head.

“Well…”

“Yeah… “ 

Tim wanted to pour his heart out to her, to tell her all the messed up feelings that he ached to share, to confide in her. But Sasha was beginning to wake up now, her awareness of the world slowly changing her face to something slightly harder. She broke eye contact, glancing down to Tim’s chest. He was never happier that he had bitten back the words as when she finally spoke.

“That can’t happen again,” she muttered into his chest as she dug in the knife and ripped out his heart. 

Tim let go of her waist, rolling on to his back and staring at the wooden roof of the hut. Under the pillow she gave his hand another gentle squeeze before untangling their fingers. 

Tim counted the wooden planks, the nails … anything to distract him from the hollow emptiness that was gnawing away at him from the inside out. 

Sasha was talking now, low and apologetic, words of confusion, words of reassurance, words of friendship and regret. It all rolled off Tim’s mind, none of it sticking to the few brain cells that tried to hold on to that one blissful moment where he had thought he had found happiness.

The trip back to London was an impossible memory to recall. He was on autopilot, he smiled in all the right places, nodded when he lied and said it didn’t change anything between the two of them. 

He held the tears till he got back to his flat. It had never felt so empty and alone. The ghost of Danny shadowed him as he moved silently through his lonely flat, throwing the bag of climbing equipment into the closet as he headed towards the bathroom.

As his skin wrinkled under the constant pressure of the water washing away the muck and aching loss, it was hard to tell where the water ended and the tears began.

  
  


  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the feedback so far it makes me smile so much when I get an email saying someone likes this rambling ....  
> Love hearing what you all think .  
> Xxxpezzy xxx


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin has to make a difficult choice.  
> Sasha states the obvious .  
> Jon doesn't get value for money and Tim develops a taste for vinyl.

**From : Sasha (Bond): Didn’t think you had such a thing for nerds? I thought I’d scared you for life?**

Sasha was laughing silently to herself as Tim looked up from his phone to glare at her across the room. 

**To : Sasha (Bond): No idea what you’re talking about?**

He shifted himself further behind his monitor as Sasha smirked at him over the top of her phone, typing without looking down as she deliberately held eye contact.

**From: Sasha (Bond): I see you staring at Sims. I'm hurt. Do you want me to leave the two of you alone?**

Tim crumpled up some scrap paper and threw it at her. Ducking out of the way, she dissolved into hysterics. Across the room Jon looked up from his pile of documents to see what the commotion was about. 

His hair was twisted around his fingers where he had been fidgeting as he read, folded into the seat with his knee tucked under his chin, absorbed in whatever rabbit hole he had fallen down. Jon raised an eyebrow in question, looking like he had all but forgotten that Sasha and Tim were in the room at all.

In the time that Jon had been in the department, his entire personality had changed. The suit and tie had slowly been abandoned in favour of more casual attire, the thick black jumper he wore today had no right to make him look as good as it did. The roll neck and cable knit kept drawing Tim’s eyes to the lines of Jon’s neck, the way that his fingers twisted into the cascade of hair that hung just along the nape of it, all sharp edges but distractingly formed. 

Tim’s mind kept getting sidetracked. He was supposed to have this file finished by the end of the day. It wasn’t fair that the world had provided him with two hindrances in the form of annoyingly attractive co-workers. It was even more bothersome that neither of them knew just how attractive they really were and it didn’t help that lingering feelings he had for Sasha never really left him alone. 

They were at the point now where they could make light of it, but it had been hard going.

Awkward mornings where neither could look at each other and Tim would disappear into the sanctuary of the library and Martin’s bunker. The man had been a thimble while Tim had sewn himself back together, Martin never pushed or tugged at the raw nerve that Sasha had left exposed. But when he was around Martin the playful banter that bordered on flirting helped Tim feel almost normal. Sasha would never know how deep the cut had been or how much he had to patch his heart up in the aftermath. 

Tim took it as a credit to his ability to survive almost anything life threw at him, the ability to go on business as usual. He never let the carefully crafted mask he had created drop, although he thought Rosie might have picked up on something; she had been gradually friendlier to him. No doubt to get her hands on some gossip that he was in no way willing to provide. 

He had barely even spoken to Martin about it, only the bare minimum information had tumbled from his lips as he had drunk his sorrows away over a round or two in the Dirty Barrels, determined to not make Sasha look bad. Martin obviously knew that something had happened, after all he had been in on the cunning plan, whatever that plan had been, but as to the cold hard facts? No, that was between him, Sasha and any god that wanted to have a shifty. That was unless it happened to fall a little lower down the deity scale, maybe the devil was really in the details.

This was his fault. He had been the one that had to go and make it something bigger than it really was.

Sasha didn’t know how he felt, and they were good as friends. At least that was what he kept telling himself.

Sasha, well, Sasha was a problem. Despite the fact that they had agreed to keep it professional, the air between them was still charged. For all the advice he was quick to share with strangers on the internet, the inability to play by his own rules was going to be his downfall. He was slowly torturing himself with the feelings that he had been steadfast against cultivating, feelings only got you hurt. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t set himself up for pain and yet here he was, wishing that he could just have one more morning where Sasha woke up in his arms. 

Maybe he was just lonely? He missed Danny, he missed companionship. After Danny's ‘disappearance’ he had pushed everyone away. It had been lonely, with no physical body to bury, no closure, just the awful truth that rattled around his mind constantly. Nobody would believe him. 

Trauma response to a missing person was the therapist’s go to response; he was adamant that Tim was planting the images in his head, creating his own narrative about what had really happened. But Sasha? Sasha believed him, and now? He wished they could go back to the gentle friendship that had been stable and somewhere warm to retreat to when the world got a little too much. 

Jon for the most part seemed oblivious to anything but work and try as he might, he couldn’t get the man to talk about much other than the current project he was working on. It had been a blessing in disguise to have at least one person not stepping on eggshells around him, blissfully ignorant of the barely concealed train crash before him. 

Because of this, he had found himself spending more and more time with Jon, lunch breaks and quiet pints when he could drag him away from a computer after clocking off time. 

He had discovered Jon liked craft beer, had questionable musical taste and outside of work had a collection of plaid shirts that could rival Martin’s. 

They had spent one memorable Saturday afternoon wandering around second hand shops and record stores in Camden as Jon had flicked idly at gate sleeves, chewing on his bottom lip as he cast his eyes over vinyl in various states of decay. 

This Jon had been a revelation, so different to the stuck up pompous prat that had been slow to warm up to anyone in the office. Jon Sims was layered, and Tim was glad they had come so far from the days when he had to bribe conversation out of the man with kitchen scraps for a cat. 

Not that Captain Chonk had gone anywhere. She still paced the courtyard and could occasionally be seen stretched out along the window by Jon’s desk, one eye on the blinking cursor on the monitor and the other closed where she was pressed up against the window. She never stayed in long, preferring the freedom that the street offered her. Although at some point she had gained a collar with the institute's address on a small brass plaque. It jingled as her now round stomach bounded up the steps like she owned the place. People were now conditioned to check the door before they closed it, lest they got a cat tail stuck in it and faced the wrath of the research staff.

Chonk had done it’s rounds this morning and now sat under the tree, Tim could see it from where he now sat, he tried to focus on the cat but his eyes seemed to be drawn to Jon as he worked. 

It was involuntary, something was making him unable to concentrate on the paperwork before him and obviously Sasha had picked up on the way that Tim had been staring at Jon and not doing any work. 

Jon always looked so serious, he needed to smile more. Tim wanted to make Jon relax for once in his life. 

His phone vibrated again. Tim chose to ignore it. Sasha had obviously found her new source of entertainment, he hoped that this would make the tension between the two of them lessen. He missed having her to talk too, without the loaded undercurrent. Hopefully this newfound streak of mischief would lead the way to better things. 

When they laughed and caused a ruckus Jon had been pulled from his reverie to look across at the interruption. That had been about five minutes ago but when Tim looked up, Jon was still looking at him. It was a good thing Tim didn’t blush easy; the intense gaze was quite unnerving, did Jon even realise he was doing it?

After a few uncomfortable moments Jon jumped to his feet. Gathering his files and tucking his pen behind his ear, mumbling about needing something from Artifact Storage, he headed out of the office without even looking back.

“He’s like a startled cat sometimes,” Sasha said, craning to watch Jon disappear down the hallway, pen pressed to her lips as she stared at Jon’s backside as it disappeared around the corner.

“Are you staring? After what you just text me? You are a hypocrite.” Slumping back in his chair, Tim folded his arms across his chest.

“Don’t be jealous just because I don’t get caught. Subtlety is not yours or his strong point.” She smirked. It was nice to see that look of devilment upon her face again, he had missed it .

“Do I have competition for your hand, my lady?” he joked, and was pleased to realise it only stung a little.

Sasha shrugged, tapping her pen against her bottom lip. “You know the law: two men enter, one man leaves.” 

“Did you just thunderdome me?” Tim looked affronted. “How dare you. And in my own office, too!” 

Another rolled up piece of paper hit him between the eyes before landing on the desk with a muffled thud. It was a good shot, it ricocheted and landed in the drooping leaves of Tiny.

Tim grabbed his water bottle giving his little guy a drink and rearranging the novelty sunglasses that sat high on the top leaves he wasn’t looking his best, maybe plants really did take after their owners, or was that pets? If it was pet’s Chonk was most definitely taking after Jon.

When he looked back up Sasha was smiling at him, a warm thing that tugged at that little thread that was frayed but still holding on.

“Scared of the competition?” she questioned steepling her hands in front of her. 

“From Sims? Inconceivable.”  _ Maybe a little, _ but he wasn’t going to let something like that get to him.

“I don’t think that word means what you think it means.” Sasha laughed, rolling her eyes and turning her attention back to the computer monitor. It was just a moment, but he saw the quick glance in his direction and the light colour that flashed in her cheeks. 

“I will fight him at dawn for your hand,” he prompted in his best princess bride impresion, the shade of Sasha’s face urging him on.

“Are we fighting for Jon or for me in this scenario? Because we all know with you, it could go either way.” Sasha questioned, eyes fixed on the monitor before her. 

“Jon, obviously. We know that if it came down to it and you had to pick me or Jon you would pick me. After all, I'm the leading man in your life. We all know that!”

“Didn’t realise this was a crappy B movie.” She chanced a glance at him.

“Harsh…” Tim hammed up being hurt, clutching at fake pearls. “It's just logical you would pick me. Have you seen me?”

“Bold of you to assume I’d pick you over Jon.” She smirked.

“It’s just a matter of Tim.”

“Did you just-” Sasha groaned at the pun, it wasn't his best work but it had done the job.

“I did.” He winked and Sasha shook her head at the cheesiness of his work.

“Well, I have the upper hand in the Jon stakes anyway. I don’t think your charm and ability to quote every eighties movie ever made will score you high on the Sims scale. I am obviously the more attractive option here.” She pointed at herself with both hands grinning “You can’t compare to brains  _ and _ good looks.”

“Shots fired! Them’s fighting words Bond... ” 

At that moment the sound of footsteps outside the door made them both look up. Tim half expected to see Jon standing there looking at them with the same look of tired curiosity that seemed to be permanently attached to his face. 

But it was Martin, a book cart before him.

“Martin! Good timing… who's the better option? Me or Sasha? Pick carefully.” Tim fluttered his eyelashes in Martin's direction.

Martin looked confused. “In what capacity?”

“In a ‘if you had to pick one of us to take out on a date’ capacity.” Tim said rounding his desk and perching on the end to be closer to Martin, grinning in what he believed to be his most charming manner. 

“Well that’s an easy answer.” Martin said stepping back from Tim’s best smoulder.

Sasha huffed. “That’s not fair. I'm not exactly Martin's type, am I?”

“No, give him a moment.” He shushed her with his hands, “Let's hear the man out. Think about it carefully Martin, a lot hangs on this decision,” This was going exactly the way Tim planned. 

Martin busied himself looking through the stack of books on the cart, he seemed to be giving it serious consideration. 

Finding what he was looking for he moved over to Sasha’s desk, placing a stack of books before her. 

“Gotta be Sasha, sorry Tim.”

Sasha did a victory dance in her chair. 

“Friendship terminated!”

“Sorry, dunno what to tell you. If you got it you got it.” Sasha chirped as she spun in her chair, showcasing herself like a character choice screen before doing a little shimmy and a bow. 

“Fancy a drink Martin?” 

“God no. No offense Sasha but I'm not into women.” 

“That makes my victory all the more sweet.” Sasha held up a hand to high five Martin, he did so enthusiastically. “Sucks to be you, Stoker,” she shot back over towards him, sticking her tongue out petulantly. 

Tim crossed his arms, pretending to sulk as Martin picked up the returned books from the outbox on Jon’s desk and slid it back on his cart. 

“I don’t like it when you two work together,” Tim wagged his finger between the two of them. “I always end up on the wrong end of it.” 

Martin shrugged. “Don’t play the game if you don’t want to be a runner up.” 

“This is workplace bullying.” Tim protested.

“If I was bullying you... I wouldn't buy you your favourite biscuits, would I?” Martin shook his head as he searched for the book on his trolly that Tim requested. 

He walked over, placing it on top of Tim’s still folded arms and gently shoving it into his chest. 

“Oh don’t pout, it does nothing for you.” 

“Favoritism. That’s what it is.” He looked up to Martin who was grinning down at him amused with his own hubris. 

This close Martin looked tired, was life getting on top of him again? Was his mum playing up? Tim had been so preoccupied with his own disasters he hadn’t checked in with Martin’s. 

“You’re right, maybe I should stop buying you Hobnobs? Start stocking the bunker with Kit-Kats for Sasha instead.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Tim was surprised by how scandalised he actually sounded. 

Martin better not stop getting him Hobnobs, it was what got him through the afternoon slump.

Martin sucked air in through his teeth, as he moved towards the door, “I’d not push my resolve, or I might even throw out the duck mug.”

“You’re a monster...not my duck mug…” Tim watched as Martin headed back down the corridor with a little wave as Sasha buried her head in her arms to muffle the sound of her laughter. 

Tim moved the book to his desk, turning to face Sasha. 

“You’re just as bad, and for the record, Kit-Kats are not superior to the decadent heights of chocolate Hobnob.” 

The two of them started debating the merits of biscuits, the time passing in a blur. It almost felt like it used too, the two of them bickering over some pointless thing that had no great relevance to the world, like the time they debated for an hour over how to pronounce the word tomato. 

They barely noticed when Jon came back from his excursion. 

At least, not until he let out an annoyed hiss that made both Sasha and Tim stop mid-rant about the biscuits to tea dunking ratio.

“Okay mate?” Tim questioned as Jon moved around the files on his desk, his brow furrowed and his glasses sliding down his nose in the way that always made Tim want to reach over and shove them back up. 

“The book I was using, it’s disappeared,” he said, checking under his desk just for good luck.

“Oh yeah, Martin was in earlier, he was collecting things to take back to the library. Maybe he picked it up?” Sasha offered.

“Why does he always take things when I’m not around.” Jon grumbled.

“Because you aren't around to tell him not to?” Tim suggested “Also you had it in your outbox so, you know, I'd have done the same.”

Jon narrowed his eyes, shoving his glasses back up his nose ( _ thankfully _ ) and angrily sinking back into his desk chair. “One of these days I'm going to meet this Martin, and I’m going to tell him to stop touching things that have nothing to do with him.”

“Well technically.” Sasha piped up from Tim’s side. “The books are everything to do with him, what with him being a Librarian?”

Jon shot her a withering look, but there was nothing really behind it, they had found out quite early on that Jon’s bark was very much worse than his bite.

“You know what I meant, Sasha.” 

“You know, if you ever came to the pub with us on a Friday you would get to meet Martin and you could tell him how much you hate the fact that he’s good at the job he gets paid to do.” Tim suggested as he nodded at the coat rack in the corner indicating that Sasha should grab the coats. 

Jon grunted something noncommittal, turning his attention back to his computer. There was no point asking Jon if he was coming to lunch, in this mood the answer would be no. 

“I’ll grab you a tuna sandwich, yeah?” Tim shouted as he headed for the door Sasha right behind him. Jon looked up at that, looking up at the clock on the wall. 

“No cucumber, the Captain doesn't like it.” Jon muttered before turning his attention back to the blinking lights on the screen before him.

“No cucumber, got it!” Tim shrugged his coat on and offered an arm to Sasha. 

She tentatively hooked her own arm through his, the same way she had a million times before. 

It almost felt normal. Almost.

  
  


*****

**Editor-In-beef**

**_Bigfootsfavoirtehomo asked:_ **

**_Is it immoral to hit on someone at a funeral?_ **

**_A: I really wish I didn’t have an answer._ **

**_It also depends?_ **

**_Are they the direct family?_ **

**_Are they just an acquaintance?_ **

**_Are you the bereaved?_ **

**_I need more data to give you a coherent answer._ **

**_But from my own experience, no. Just don’t!_ **

**_XMrTX_ **

*******

  
  


It was quarter past eleven and Jon had still yet to turn up for work. 

The jury was out on who this was upsetting more, Tim or Sasha. Sasha kept glancing nervously over to Jon’s desk, as if waiting for him to pull off an invisibility cloak like some sort of bargain basement Harry Potter. Tim was checking his phone periodically. If something bad had happened, Jon would text them, wouldn’t he? 

“That’s it. I’m texting him.” He had waited long enough. It was almost lunch and they hadn’t heard a thing. The totally irrational part of his brain had taken creative liberties and was cooking up scenarios with terrorists or car crashes, or heaven forbid, Jon having taken another job and just not telling them.

***To Jon (The Prof): Are you ok? Where are you?**

Tim watched as the message was sent, and then he waited. 

He nervously tapped his pen against the top of his desk, a slightly off beat rhythm filling the office, just out of time with the constant ticking of the clock. Tim was unable to concentrate on the files that were spread out across his workspace. Something about a camera? He couldn’t focus, the words seemed to just slip off the page.

Jon disappearing was so very out of character. Even if he went off on a research trip he would normally check in at the office first, just to log into time keeping. 

Eventually Sasha came over, snatching the pen from his hand in an annoyed rage.

“That is so irritating, you know that right?” she asked, laying the pen down next to the monitor that had been a timed out black screen with a yellow spiraling screensaver for the last twenty minutes.

Tim nervously looked at his phone. Was he being irrational? 

He couldn’t help but think of the last time someone he cared about had done something out of character. It had ended up with him descending to the depths of London's grimmy underside below Covent Garden and they hadn’t come back.

Still no message from Jon. Only a handful of notifications from Tumblr and Instagram. He tried not to jump to the worst conclusions but he was beginning to wonder if he should start checking the local hospitals, just to be safe.

It was then there was a rap on the doorframe. 

Elias coughed politely to introduce himself before coming into the room proper. Tim felt Sasha tense up beside him, she liked Elias about as much as Tim did and Tim rated the man somewhere lower than pond scum. 

But he paid his wages, so Tim forced a smile as Elias made his way to his desk.

“Mr. Stoker, Miss. James. Good to see you.”

“What brings you down to our humble abode boss?” Tim forced himself to sound cheerful.

“Not the best news, I'm afraid.” Elias said, fixing them with his cold green eyes. Sasha’s hand gripped on to Tim’s shoulder, a good indication her mind had jumped to the same conclusion as his own…

“Nothing quite as bad as that,” Elias inclined his head, it was as if he had answered the question that had been running through both his staff's minds. “I need you to pick up Jonathan’s workload for the rest of the week.”

“Why? What's happened?” Sasha got there quicker than he did. Tim was sure the corners of Elias’s mouth had begun turning up into a smile before the man had composed his face. The overall effect was like watching a stalking cat tease its soon-to-be lunch. 

“Jonathan will be taking bereavement for the rest of the week, hence why I require your assistance in ….picking up the slack, as they say.”

Tim had an overwhelming urge to punch the man in the face, more so than usual. He was glad that Elias had at least held back on the air quotes, that might have been the thing that pushed him over the edge.

“Not a problem,” Sasha said through gritted teeth, “Was there anything else?”

Elias looked from them to the windowsill. Outside Captain Chonk gazed in from her perch on the ledge. Elias seemed to weigh up his options and then think better of saying anything about the cat that was now waiting for it’s lunch. It was very much not supposed to be coming into the institute, but as long as it stayed outside (as far as Elias Knew), it was a fight that Elias had no power over. 

“That was all,” Elias nodded, giving a glance to the window one more time before leaving just as swiftly as he had arrived.

Both of them were silent for a moment before both speaking over the top of the other.

“I hate that man.”

“He’s such a prick.” 

At least they were in agreement over that. 

It didn’t put Tim’s mind at ease though. As far as he was aware, Jon had nobody but his grandmother in the way of family. That led to the assumption that she must be the one who had passed for Jon to have taken bereavement leave.The idea that Jon was alone in a flat somewhere dealing with all this on his own didn’t sit well with Tim. 

He shouldn’t be alone.

The idea wouldn’t leave him. He picked at his lunch. Ignored the memos that filtered down from head office, barely processed the words that Sasha was saying as she divided Jon’s workload between the two of them.

_ Jon shouldn’t be alone right now. _

The words were on repeat in his mind, a constant rotation of six words, his fingers tapping out the rhythm on his mug, tea undrunk. Mind a million miles away.

His phone buzzed, he glanced down at the screen, an image of him and Danny flashed up behind a message from Martin inquiring why he hadn’t been down for his afternoon cuppa.

His coat landing on top of his phone made him jump, shaking him from the monotonous revolutions of the voice in his head.

“Go on, go find Jon. You won’t rest till you know he’s alright.” Sasha started piling up the files on his desk. “I’ll deal with this.” She indicated the neat stack before her. Tim didn’t need telling twice, he was on his feet and his coat was on before Sasha had second thoughts. He swooped in and pecked Sasha on the cheek. 

“What would I do without you?” He hoped it came across as genuine because he meant it that way. 

Sasha pressed something into his hand. “Jon’s address, I wasn’t sure if you had it?” 

How did she always know what he wanted? She had known that he needed to check on Jon, that he wouldn’t settle until he had made sure his friend was safe. But then, Sasha had never once doubted what Tim had told her about Danny. Sometimes it felt like she knew him better than he knew himself, other times it was like she was a total stranger. Most of the time he wasn’t sure what hurt more. 

_ Rule number one.  _ Danny's voice volunteered in his mind, at least he thought it was Danny. That memory was beginning to fade, kept alive by thirty second snippets of messenger conversations and archived Snapchats that threatened to disappear forever with one wrong nudge of a finger.  _ Game face Stoker,  _ he told himself as he closed his hand around the scrap of notepad in his hand.

“Thanks, Sash.”

“Go look after our boy. Text me, ok?” She stepped out of his way, her hand ligering for a moment on his arm. He gave one swift nod and headed for the door.

*******

**Editor-In-Beef**

**_People and cryptids, I am having a week of it._ **

**_As you know Me and Bond… well it got very complicated very fast shall we say? Remember what I told you about rule number seven? This is why it exists! But I’m glad to announce that after months if not decades things seem almost back to normal? Mutual hatred of the double boss and heartfelt looks across a moldy office carpet seem to have done the trick._ **

**_However… The Professor remains an issue._ **

**_I will be signing off for a little bit, The AMA I was going to do tonight is off the cards._ **

**_In the meantime please accept this cat picture as a way of an apology._ **

**_As ever,_ **

**_XMrTX_ **

**_Image I.D [A large round tabby cat missing the tip of its left ear stairs up at the camera, around its neck sits a bright yellow collar with a star shaped i.d tag. It appears to be eating what looks like a bowl of macaroni and cheese. The cats front claws are buried in the paper container, we may be led to believe that the cat removed this item by stealth.] End I.D_ **

  
  


**_******_ **

  
  


Jon, as it turned out, lived somewhere up near Archway. 

Several tubes later and a quick hop on a bus and Tim found himself turning into a red-bricked terrace, suddenly releasing that Jon might not even be at home. Him and his Gran were from Brighton, there was a distinct possibility he might have already left to sort out funeral arrangements. Tim should have text first, but Jon hadn’t answered any of his other texts. What was to say that one would be any different?

He pulled out his phone to look at his notifications, his last Tumblr post was gaining notes at a rapid rate. He should have known that a little bit of personal trauma would generate a tidal wave of likes and reblogs. He chose to mute the app, clicking to Google maps to make sure he was on the right street. The rows of terraced townhouses loomed down on him from both sides, street lights casting their Victorian splendor in sharp relief. They all seemed like they were expensive. 

Tim knew that his wages would price him out of this area unless it was a house share, and he couldn’t imagine Jonathan Sims sharing, not even a studio. Jon Sims was not a man to play well with others, the idea of him having to share a kitchen with anyone else seemed ludicrous. 

Maybe Jon was married? Or had a partner and he just never spoke of it? If so, they must be very understanding because Jon spent his entire life with his nose to the grind. 

Two people could probably afford something around here. Maybe Jon did have a partner and he was just so secretive about everything that Tim hadn’t been privy to this information. Tim had all but talked himself into turning around and heading home when he spotted Jon. 

He sat on a low wall, long since devoid of its iron railings in sacrifice to the war effort. It looked like the worst place in the world to stop and take a rest, yet Jon sat with his legs crossed under him, hunched over, his back resting against the gate post, lighter in hand as he lit up a cigarette. 

The floor around him was littered with discarded butts smoked down to the filter. They fanned out in a perfect arch around the epicenter of Jon, looking smaller and more disheveled than Tim had ever seen him. 

His hair was scraped up in a messy pile on top of his head, his eyes sunken from lack of sleep and he was engulfed in a hoodie that was several times too large for him. That combined with the checkerboard vans and black skinny jeans made him almost look like a tenager sneaking out for a sly smoke under the cloak of night. The Jon before him was the polar opposite of the put together academic that he alluded to on the daily at work.

“Your phone suddenly doesn’t work now or something?” Tim piped up as he approached. He wasn’t sneaking, he told himself. He was just approaching a wounded animal in its natural habitat; he didn’t want to startle him. Jon to his credit didn’t jump, he barely even acknowledged Tim’s presence past nodding at the uncomfortable-looking wall to indicate that Tim should also take a seat. 

Jon’s eyes were glazed over. He didn’t look like he had been crying, he just didn’t look present. He was physically here, sitting in the dark on a crumbling old wall somewhere in north London, but his mind was somewhere else. 

He took a seat on the wall before him. Jon pulled his legs from under him, lifting them to tuck his knees under his chin the way he did when he was sucked into a report at work. But at work he looked determined and sure, right now he looked lost and so very helpless. Silence sat heavy. It wasn’t oppressive, it just encompassed them.

People think London is a heaving metropolis loud and noisy and full of life. It’s not until you stop do you realise that isn’t the case. 

London is a collection of silent pockets of calm, weaved together by people and connections, the day to day life that is its true lifeblood. The newsagent selling yesterday's news to people too busy to stop and breath, the taxi drivers ferrying others on adventures that they themselves are but a bit part in some larger tale. A million people pushed together by work and commute and coincidence, all interacting in intricate webs that gave the illusion of life. 

It wasn’t until something forced you to stop that the quiet would creep in; the almost sentient space pressed in around the edges of a life that just happened when you weren't expecting it, predictable, but entirely out of your control. Tim remembered clearly that empty calm void. The feeling of the world going on around you. The pain that engulfed you, then clawed you from the inside out until it broke through, ripping and tearing at the outside of the bubble and the real world rushed back in through the gaps left in the wake.

In the days after Danny had been killed he moved through the world like the air was made of treacle, time felt like it didn’t exist. It was a muted calm that suffocated you if you let it. Tim had done it alone, nobody believing that Danny had been killed, just repeating that Danny had just disappeared on one of his adventures. It had taken almost six months for his own parents to even begin to contemplate anything else as an option. Danny this, Danny that… Tim had always been in the long shadow of his perfect baby brother. What he wouldn’t give to be cast in that shade now, to bask in the darkness that could only be created by hiding in the light cast off in his brother's enthusiasm for life. 

The silence was deafening.

Eventually Jon got to the bottom of his packet of cigarettes. He glared at the empty box like the things had smoked themselves and this was the biggest injustice in the world. Tim felt that protective tug in his chest again, there was something incredibly endearing to see Jon like this, so very different to the sides of him that he had allowed them to see up until this point. Jon scrunched the empty packet up in his hand, shoving it haphazardly into the pocket of his hoodie and uncurling from his perch on the wall.

“Suppose you better come up.” Jon muttered, getting to his feet and addressing Tim for the first time in the space of an hour. Tim didn’t comment, he was used to the harsh tones of Jonathan Sims now, and the bitterness in the man's voice right now had no punch to it at all.

Jon seemed even shorter dressed down like this, maybe he was slouching? Maybe it was the way that his top absolutely swamped his lean frame, either way it was pulling at that protective streak that Tim now associated with his work friends. No, not  _ work  _ friends, they were his friends. He had never wanted to hang around with anyone from the publishing house outside of work. The statutory seasonal parties were an obligatory evil, yet since he moved to the institute he had wanted to spend more and more time with the others under his own free will. He wanted to be around these people.

He followed Jon up the stairs; the house had been separated into self contained units by the look of things. They traveled up three flights of stairs past locked and barred doors, the muffled sounds of T.V.s escaping alongside the light that leaked through the cracks around the doors. Finally Jon stopped at a faded yellow door; it looked like it had been added as an afterthought, squeezed into a tiny alcove on the top floor overlooking the small window to the backyard. 

“You might need to duck.” Jon said, pushing the door open. It revealed another thinner set of steps leading up to what Tim assumed was the attic. 

Tim pulled the door closed behind him. He did in fact have to duck as he walked up the steps. As he got to the top of the stairs, he understood why.

Jon’s flat was tiny, less of a flat and more like a studio, although it was clearly self contained. There was a battered looking sofa covered in throws that boggles the mind as to how it had gotten into the space, there was no way it had gotten up the tiny entrance stairwell. Across from that stood a bookcase, though it didn’t hold many books. 

One shelf was full of vinyl and another shelved a record player. 

Beside that there was a photo of a woman with her arms wrapped around a large rotund ginger cat. Next to that was a cheaply framed image of what must have been a young Jon, flanked by what Tim assumed was his parents. 

Little Jon looked barely older than three, all big brown eyes and a mop of jet black hair. Jon was the image of his mother, she too seemed to be made up of sharp angles, but her eyes were kind, green as opposed to his fathers and Jon’s own. He knew Jon’s parents were a topic that was never discussed, other than knowing they had passed before Jon was six, he knew little about Jon’s life other than the tidbits the man let fall out if pushed the right way.

Jon had always spoken highly of his grandmother whenever Tim had enquired about his weekends back in Brighton. 

It was easy to work out who smiled back at him when Tim’s eyes traveled to the next shelf.

Next to a shoebox-sized Buddha statue holding a lit candle there stood a picture of an older Jon, dressed in graduation robes and next to a short round woman in a dark green saree. She looked both proud and stubborn at the same time.  _ So that was where Jon got it from.  _ Below it was a folded piece of white cloth; it had one single peony flower set upon the surface. Jon must have caught Tim looking at the makeshift shrine. 

“It was the only picture I had on hand of her,” he said, sinking onto the battered sofa. “I have no idea what tradition to follow, can hardly have a large celebration as per her side of the family’s tradition, not with it just being the two of us. My mothers side of the family would have me sit here in black till the cremation.” Jon scrutinised the picture on the bookcase. “My grandmother Janisha Sims everybody, stubborn and awkward even in death.”

Tim wasn’t sure what to say to that. Or if he should say anything at all.

He hovered awkwardly in the middle of the room. He hadn’t actually come up with an idea of what to do when he finally arrived at Jon’s. The idea that he just needed to see he was ok with his own two eyes had been too strong a pull. This was hardly the time for him to fall back on his flirty persona, and that left him at a loss for what to do with himself. 

Jon raised a quizzical eyebrow in his direction. “For heaven's sake. Sit down, will you?” 

Tim did as he was told, taking a seat on the only available surface in the flat. The sofa was barely big enough for the two of them together; it was smaller than the one in Martin’s bunker and it sagged in the middle, sliding Jon closer to him as Tim took a seat. Jon huffed as the blanket from the back of the sofa fell down and pooled across him due to the sudden redistribution of weight. 

“What are you doing here Tim?” He asked eventually when the silence came creeping back around them like an old friend.

Tim stalled. What was he doing here? Why had he dragged himself halfway across London on some sort of? Some sort of what? Hero quest to stop Jon spiraling the same way he had?

“I was worried about you, alright?” He settled on eventually. “Am I allowed to be worried about my friend?” 

Jon sagged a little, throwing the blanket back over the back of the sofa and pulling his legs back into the crossed leg position he had been maintaining on the wall. His knee came up to rest on Tim’s; Jon cast him a sideways glance as if daring him to comment. Tim would have been at a loss at what to say even if the contact had caused his train of thought to derail. Jon had gone back to staring at the photo on the bookcase, humming a tune to himself under his breath as he did so. It gave Tim a chance to look around Jon’s flat properly.

The space was barely bigger than the office back at the institute. The small kitchenette led off the living area, the basics lined the one long bench: an electric kettle, a toaster and a microwave that looked like it had been in situ since the seventies. The fridge tucked under the bench next to the sink. Beside that stood a tiny two hob oven that looked like it was barely used (just when was the last time Jon had consumed something that wasn’t laced with nicotine?) A door led off to what Tim presumed was the bathroom. The most depressing thing about the space was the bed. 

The bed that had been the thing that nearly knocked him out on the way up the stairs. Someone had tried to utilise the space to its fullest potential that’s for sure, building a platform for a mattress to fill the vacant space above the stairwell. Tim didn’t know whether to be horrified or immensely impressed. The space was so narrow he doubted he would even be able to sit up in it, though at his five foot nothing stature Jon probably just glanced his head.

“Is that even legal?” Tim nodded at the Ikea hack from hell that almost certainly towed the line between bed and death trap.

“Probably not, but for six hundred a month this close to a tube line, what more could a man ask for?”

“A safety rail? A bed that doesn’t hang over a precipice like Gollum on Mount Doom?”

Jon gave out a gentle chuckle. “I actually got that one.” 

“Only cause it also came out of a book.” Tim nudged Jon in the side “You okay?” 

Jon shook his head.. He tried to hide the emotion on his face by staring down where he fiddled with the black band on his middle finger, but he wasn’t fooling Tim for a moment. 

“Come here you useless bugger.” Tim reached out, pulling Jon in to him. That was all it took for Jon to completely lose it. He sobbed uncontrollably, head tucked into Tim’s chest. Tim tried to run a soothing hand up Jon’s back but got tangled in the blanket again; this sofa really wasn’t designed for tall people. He gave up trying to untangle himself and pulled the blanket around Jon, shushing at the sobs that echoed in his own chest. He wished he didn’t know exactly how it felt. 

The darkness was creeping in now, the flickering light of the candle making shadows dance across the walls around them. Eventually the soggy sobs subsided, Jon stopped shaking and Tim felt it was safe to look down at the man that had wrapped himself in his jumper.

“Better?”

“A little.”

“It gets easier.”

“So they tell me.” Jon wiped at his face with his sleeve. “Oh shit, where are my manners? I didn’t even offer you tea when you came in, did I?”

Tim couldn’t help laughing, Jon looked at him confused.

“Only you could be scandalised by lack of etiquette after snotting all over your house guest for the last half an hour.” Tim fished his phone out of his pocket. “You need something stronger than tea. The take-aways around here aren’t so posh that they don’t do alcohol with their pizza, are they?” he asked, pulling up the food delivery app.

Jon thought about it. “I’ve never really looked?”

“Well let’s find out.” Tim purposefully ignored the missed messages from Sasha. He went about minimizing them until he could think of the best way to say that Jon was okay, he just lived in a death trap, had almost smoked half of Marlboros stock and he looked insanely hot dressed in his normal clothes… actually, he should keep that one to himself.

  
  
  


Jon had successfully picked the last of the label of the bottle in his hand, Tim didn’t even know if he was aware he had done it. 

They had been talking over the sound of some progressive rock group that Tim had never heard of. It played from the crackling record player on the shelf, filling the room with a background noise that dampened out that silence. The now empty pizza box sat discarded on the floor, the empty bottles from the successfully consumed beer stood sentinel amidst the discarded mushrooms for Tim’s side of the pizza. 

All in all, Tim was content with his work. Jon had eaten, Jon had cried, and now he was on to his third stupidly-priced beer of the evening. But more importantly, Jon was going to be ok. He knew he wasn’t alone. 

Tim watched Jon as he tapped his ring against the bottle in time with the music. There was something almost hypnotic about it, the way he moved when he was relaxed like this, so different from the sharp and rigid man that sat across from him day after day in a stuffy office. 

Jon was resting his head across the back of the sofa, staring at the way the light from the candle danced across the stucco tiles. Tim was reveling in one of his favourite pastimes; he really did enjoy watching the way Jon’s hair looped along the nape of his neck. It was taking all of Tim’s willpower not to reach out and wrap a finger in it. It wasn’t fair that Jon was so bloody distracting.

“What?” Jon rolled his head to the side, cheek pressed into the sagging upholstery, knocking his glasses off kilt and messing his hair up even more.

Tim fidgeted, sinking further down the sofa so he could rest his head to echo Jon’s. 

“What?” This time a smile inched its way to the corners of Jon’s lips. Lips that Tim couldn’t stop looking at now that he had noticed.

“Nothing, just...nothing.” Tim pulled his gaze away; he had no right to be thinking of Jon like that, not when the man was in mourning. At his side he felt Jon inch closer to him. The gap on the sofa was now non-existent, the heat of Jon’s arm pressed tightly against his own. 

“It must be something.” 

When Jon spoke, Tim could feel the breath on his cheek and he knew if he turned his head now, Jon would be right there. What was going through the other man's mind? Was this just seeking comfort from a friend to help him in a dark place, or was it more? Yes Jon was attractive, dangerously so. But more so he was one of his best friends. One of the few people he felt he could trust. He could trust Jon. He could let him in... _ right? _

Tim slowly tipped his head to the side. Sure enough, Jon’s face was hair’s breadth from his own, but his eyes were closed, his hand reaching up as if to cup at Tim’s face. He looked like he was about to do something that Tim was sure he would regret without talking about it first. 

Tim took a moment to take in the vision before him; the three day old stubble preparing Jon’s chin, the way the silver grey that framed his face had started pushing its way through at the corners of his mouth. The way his glasses followed the lines of deep purple that pooled under his eyes from lack of sleep. The way deep brown eyes found his in the dim light of an overpriced flat in a house that could never be a home.

Jon made a sound like a content cat, a low hum that made Tim want to move his cheek into Jon’s waiting palm. 

But his eyes settled on the simple black band that adorned Jon’s middle finger. Jon must have noticed, he moved his hand back, trying to pull his hand into his hoodie to hide the jewelry on his hand. 

But Tim reached out to take hold of him by the wrist sliding his fingers to tangle in with Jon’s, running his thumb along the band. Jon fidgeted under his touch. But he didn’t pull away, his face still inches from Tim’s. He could almost taste the beer that lingered on Jon’s lips on his own. 

“I know…” Jon started but he seemed not to be able to find the words he wanted to use so Tim gave him some of his own.

“I know I wear my sexuality like a badge of honor, but you… you don’t, and I know,” Tim glanced at their intertwined fingers. “I know what  _ that _ means, and I don’t want you doing anything you’re going to regret.” 

“Very noble of you... and I’m not sure if it will go any further, but I’d quite like to kiss you now.” Jon held his gaze. Absolute certainty permeated the stare, challenging him to push it further. “If you’re agreeable to the idea that is.”

Tim felt his lip twitching, only Jon could be so formal trying to hit on someone. It was all sorts of endearing.

He gave one simple nod and then the sofa was sagging as Jon bridged the last few inches. 

Tim was suddenly feeling the bristle of stubble he had only just catalogued as it brushed gently against his own, tasting the beer that was all the better for being pulled from Jon’s lips. 

Jon kissed like a man trying to suck the oxygen straight from Tim’s lungs, a deep sea diver trying to find a way to breath after critical failure had pushed him to the brink. Tim drank it in. Aching for the connection, the grip of something that wasn’t his trauma, wasn’t whatever messed up disaster remained of his deep feelings for Sasha. 

Jon’s hand moved to the back of his head and Tim took the opportunity to finally discover if Jon’s hair was just as soft as it looked. It flowed through his fingers as he pulled Jon closer, the sofa complaining at the sudden movement. Tim revealed in the feeling of Jon’s hair between his fingers, felt the shift of him against his chest where his heart seemed to be beating at a staccato beat in time to the music that created a buffer between them and the real world.

Had this been what Tim had set out to do when he had left the institute? Part of him thinks maybe it had been, but his head and his heart were not always on the same wavelength when it came to common sense. 

Tim ran a hand down Jon’s back, the other along Jon’s arm feeling the warmth of his skin under his palms. Jon shuddered under his attention, making a noise that would surely become part of an image that would live in his mind every time he thought back to this moment. He moved, desperately trying to pull that sound from Jon’s lips at least once more. 

He ran his hand along the hem of Jon’s t-shirt, catching at the bare skin with the tip of his ring finger. 

Jon froze, sucking air in through his teeth as he went ridgid.

“Jon?” He asked carefully. 

“Sorry… just…” Jon was still close enough that Tim couldn’t focus on him. That wouldn’t do. He moved his head further back, making sure he could see Jon’s entire face.

“Jon, are you okay?” he asked. As he scanned Jon’s reaction, he could see the uncertainty written upon it. 

That was all he needed. He gently lifted Jon off him, pulling the blanket from where it had been knocked to the ground and wrapping it around Jon.

“Thank you.” Jon whispered as he looked down to his shaking hands. 

“What for?”

“Being you? Being here for me?” Jon looked up at him again, tears were starting to swell in his eyes again. 

“What was I gonna do? Leave you to deal with all this on your own? Not on my watch. I’ve been where you are, okay? You aren't doing this alone.” He offered out a hand for Jon to take if he wanted to.

“I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have done that…”

“What? Tried to suck my face off?” Tim joked, but Jon looked so awkward he felt he had to go on. “Did you hear me complaining?”

Jon fidgeted, twisting his hand into his own hair, straightening his glasses and looking everywhere but at Tim. “I shouldn’t…”

“Shouldn’t have what?” Tim nudged him with his knee, his hand still turned up to take if the smaller man wanted. 

“I shouldn’t have led you on…” Jon muttered and Tim’s chest pulled tight. Not again, was this going to be just like Sasha? Had he jumped in 

“You didn’t want to kiss me?” He tried not to sound upset, he didn’t want to drag Jon down any further. 

“No!” Jon’s head shot up. “God no, I really did want to kiss you… I just… I’m ace, and you, well you …”

“And I what?”

“You’re you! You can’t say your reputation doesn’t proceed you.”

Tim tried not to be offended, but it was proving very hard. He had been in the institute three years now and in that time the only person that had even managed to get past his defences was Sasha. He knew he had a reputation, but he didn’t know the gossip was so bad that Jon, the master of isolation, had caught wind of it. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Did you think?” He got to his feet, anger bubbling just below the surface . “Did you think I only came over here to try and shag you?” 

Jon shook his head, hands now completely tangled in his own hair . “No … I ...” Jon drew in a heavy breath and Tim knew it was a sign he was about to break down again. “I just-”

Tim took several deep breaths, he wasn’t here for himself, he was here for Jon. Jon who had just lost the only bit of family he had. 

This wasn’t about him.

“Sorry, Jon… I’m sorry,” he gave out a frustrated grunt “You don’t need this right now.”

“What do I need?” Jon grumbled sarcastically. “If you can tell me, I would love to know.”

Tim spun on the spot, Jon looked like he was gearing up for a fight, biting back the tears but not about to back down. It was like watching a puppy get its hackles up because someone had stolen it’s favourite toy. Tim felt all of the anger drain right out of him. 

And he laughed.

“You can be a right prick, you know?” There was no venom in it. 

“I’ve been told.”

“Didn’t mind the kissing, though.” Tim added with a smirk. 

Jon crossed his arms before him. He was pouting, actually pouting. It was enough to make Tim flop back on to the sofa, all the fight completely gone.

“Sorry if I crossed a line before.” Tim spread his arms across the back of the sofa stretching out to grab another beer from the box on the side table. Alcohol would help… maybe.

“You didn’t,” Jon took the beer offered to him, sinking back into Tim’s side. “I just panicked...it was all on me.” He started tapping his ring nervously against the side of the bottle again, it would be annoying if it weren't so endearing.

“Just so you know, I'm not  _ trying _ to shag you.” Tim tried to sound nonchalant, he even used air quotes around the word  _ trying _ but he wasn't sure it was working. 

Jon shifted beside him, “Did I… did I just make an absolute fool of myself?” he asked quietly.

“No.” Tim assured him. 

“But…”

“You’re ace Jon, I'm well aware that that means you have boundaries. Do you really think I’m that much of a ... I dunno… player? That I’d force you to do something you don’t want to do?”

Jon shook his head. 

“I don’t know where everyone gets this idea that I’m jumping into bed with anything with a pulse.” Tim took a swig of his beer.

“I didn’t….” Jon looked scandalised.

“Didn’t what? Listen to the gossip? The idle chatter of the worker bees? Want to know how many people this supposed love god had actually bedded? Cause I can give you a tally, it might surprise you.” 

Jon shook his head but Tim started counting off on his fingers, “One, Laura. Two, Nicky. Three, Marco. Four, Lorie. Five, Sa-” he cut himself off the last name dying on his tongue. “Despite what others say, only one was a one night stand and believe me I have no intention of doing that again. It hurt like hell.”

“So…”

“Yeah.”

“ _ Oh _ .” Jon was staring at the photo of his grandmother again, the candle had almost burned out now. It sputtered as the wax pooled in the little silver holder. Tim let Jon process what he was trying to get through to him. Eventually he placed his hand out on his own knee with his palm turned up again, the open invitation still there to be taken should Jon so wish.

After a moment of contemplation Jon silently twisted his fingers in with Tim’s again and Tim revelled in the warmth that pressed in between his own digits. 

Nothing was said as the record came to an end and the flat fell to the soft electric buzz of the unconnected needle. 

“So … kissing?” Tim ventured.

“Kissing is good.” Jon turned his head to face him again. “Kissing I can do.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhm,” Jon cradled Tim’s face, passing a thumb across the arch of his cheek before leaning in and sealing the deal with a gentle kiss upon his lips. 

Whatever Tim had expected from today, he hadn’t imagined this was how it would end but he wasn’t going to question it. 

Not right now, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Absouloutly blown away by the reactions to the last chapter. Honestly your comments have made me smile so hard thankyou !   
> If your new here I'm pezzy. Feel free to yell at me here or on tumblr @pezilla.
> 
> Seasons greetings to you all! However your seeing out 2020 I hope your happy and safe. And once again please take time to thank my betas and my artists they were a joy to work with.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha tastes like chicken.  
> Martin dodges a bullet.  
> Jon experiences the Bouchard effect and Tim puts down a deposit on a husband ...

**_*****_ **

**Editor-In-Beef**

**_The cryptic flamingo asked_ ** **_:_ ** **_How do I tell my boyfriend I'm sick of hiding our relationship? He says it’s got nothing to do with anyone else, but I need to know where I stand. Are we serious? Is this going somewhere? I hate this perpetual limbo I just want to know._ **

**_A: (checks I didn’t post this…. No we are good, wasn't me) I’m asking myself the same question, it’s hard to deal with, I know, but maybe talk it through? See what they say? Maybe they just like keeping you to themselves, or maybe it's something deeper? Fear of rejection if they make it public? An all encompassing fear of sharing something special with a cruel, cold world? Or maybe they are just an absolute dick who doesn’t really care for you._ **

**_Options._ **

**_You won’t know unless you ask the questions. Once I’ve crossed this bridge with the professor i’ll get back to you_ **

**_XMrTX_ **

**_*****_ **

Tim stared at the screen. He really did need to start taking his own advice.

Things between him and Jon had started easy. 

To be fair, that had mainly been because Jon spent the first week of it on bereavement leave so Tim hadn’t exactly seen him much between Jon’s back and forth between London and Brighton. 

Then after that, Sasha was off for two weeks on holiday ( somewhere warm because this cold was not what she was built for.) So Jon and Tim had the office to themselves, well, unless you counted the daily visits when Captain Chonkington came in for some of Jon’s sandwich, a scratch behind the ear and a cheeky nibble on Tiny. 

It was comfortable, business as usual at work, apart from the touching. Jon would often place a hand on his arm now when talking to him and Jon wouldn’t shy away from the casual way Tim slung his arm around his shoulders as he talked animatedly. 

They would go for coffee now, Jon’s arm tucked through Tim’s as they wandered the streets looking for somewhere quiet to chat, or head back to either Jon’s pokey apartment ( the bed was just as much of a death trap as Tim had feared, the bump on his head was thankfully covered by his flopping and unruly fringe, so the only person who noticed was Martin ) or curl up on Tim’s sofa and indulge in the Blue Planet until Jon nodded off and Tim could change it over to watch the Red Bull soap box or cliff diving, both things that Jon had refused to entertain on the basis of participant stupidity ( ‘I'll have you know, me and my brother entered the soap box.’ ‘ Why does that not surprise me?’)

It was nice, Jon was nice. 

But he seemed to be holding something back and Tim just wished that Jon would spit it out, instead of stewing in it like some tragic hero. If it was something he wanted he just had to say, and if it was something that Tim was doing, then Tim would rather know before he did something to send Jon running.

It was going well up until Sasha returned. Her arms full of Mickey Mouse shaped rice crispy treats and touting three sets of matching mouse ears, each set with a name embroidered on the back that she presented with such a menacing grin that Tim knew they had no choice but to wear them or they would never hear the end of it.

It was three days before Tim noticed Jon seemed a little more off than usual. 

It was a month before Tim recognised a pattern.

They were fine when they were alone, but if they were around other people, Jon suddenly sunk back into his shell. Tim began making lists of the strange things that Jon would do around him; it had only been a month or so, was Jon fed up with him already? 

It was another week of making lists and head scratching behaviour, little things like Jon avoiding him, ducking out of the office before lunch came around and finding excuses to be out researching when the clock ticked around to half past four. Tim was beyond confused. 

It finally came up as they walked the canal from Camden Locks, headed towards Jon’s favourite bookshop down near St Pancras station. It was situated in a floating barge upon the twisting banks of Regent’s Canal and it housed forgotten or pre-loved novels and the occasional factbook, long past out of date. But its pull laid in more than just books. It also had a ship’s cat that would gravitate towards Jon as soon as it saw him, twisting its dark black fur around Jon’s ankles till the man reached down to pet it. Jon and cats never failed to put a smile upon Tim’s face; it was worth the bitter cold and the trek just to see the way Jon’s face burst with an unforced smile. 

Or at least it would be, if he could see the man’s face.

Jon was bundled up in his leather jacket, a thick woolen hat pulled down over his ears. He was just a pair of glasses lightly steamed up with condensation at this point, the face-to-scarf ratio was highly overbalanced in favour of the thick sheep that seemed to be wrapped several times around his neck. Tim had no idea how he was still cold, he was wrapped up as if they were on an expedition to the Arctic, not drinking coffee and walking in central London. They had just rounded the corner when someone said Tim’s name. 

Jon dropped his hand like it was made of hot coals, shoving his in his pockets as Elias Bouchard stepped out before them on the towpath. 

“Alright, boss? Didn’t think this was ‘up-market’ enough for you?” He indicated the area around them, full of student accommodation startups and canal boats, a million miles away from the luxury that Elias exuded into the world with his lavish overcoat and highly polished oxfords. 

“Mr. Stoker, you of all people should know not to judge a book by it’s cover.” He glanced at Jon who was shifting uncomfortably, nursing the tea in his hand and looking like he would quite like to disappear into an empty chasm about now. 

“I do hope you aren't charging these coffees to your expense bill, Timothy?” Elias smiled at them like he was judging their very existence “I take it this is a business meeting?” Elias looked out of place, Tim couldn’t put his finger on why it was more than the randomness of the encounter. Elias just looked  _ wrong. _ It was as if London had modernised around him and left Elias behind in its progress. 

It was unnerving, in the way seeing Elias use a mobile phone or flick through the iPad that Martin had loaded with the library catalogue on it was. Something was just off, not quite right...

Tim forced a smile. God, this man had a way of getting under his skin . 

“No, believe it or not, me and Jon do have a life outside of the institute.”

“As do I, Timothy.” He nodded across the canal at the house boats and canal barges that sat tied up, bobbing on the sea of green algae and London detritus that often made Regent’s Canal look like you could walk across it. 

“In answer to your previous question, I have a vested interest in our cultural history- it really comes alive on the byways of London, don’t you think? I’ve always had a soft spot for the intricate nature of boats.” He indicated the brightly coloured patchwork of wood and glass that made up the bank of vessels with a gloved hand, the amused smirk plastered upon his face.

Jon made an unbelieving sound from somewhere deep inside his scarf.

“I know Jonathan, in this day and age it seems foolish to enjoy such things… but maybe I’m just an old soul. I find joy in the old ways.” Elias seemed to turn his attention to Jon now, studying him in a way that made Tim feel like he should be intervening somehow, though he wasn’t sure why.

“London certainly has a deep and interesting history.” When Jon spoke it was that harsh tone that had been missing for over a year now. Elias made him uncomfortable and the stiff academic was coming to the surface to protect the big hearted fool underneath. He was more than aware that Jon was also determinedly avoiding his gaze.

“It certainly does.” Elias turned his attention back to the boats, “Anyway gentlemen, I shouldn’t detain you any longer. After all, you aren't on the clock.”

Tim didn’t like the inclination of Elias’s voice. But then again, he didn’t rate Elias all that highly anyway.

“Nice to see you, Boss.” Tim half skipped to catch up with Jon, who dashed off like he was fleeing the scene of a crime. He could move like a whippet out of a trap sometimes despite his stature and he didn’t seem to be waiting for a second longer than needed to escape the presence of Elias. Tim hadn’t liked that one bit, not the way Jon hid, like he was ashamed to be seen with him. To be fair, he understood not wanting Elias of all people being the first to know about them, but still, that was what had been nagging at him. That feeling that Jon didn’t want anyone else to know about them, that he was embarrassed to be dating him. 

Was that it? Was that the root of the strange feeling that had been following him around like a barely visible shadow for the last few weeks? As they rounded the corner Jon ground to a stop.

“What the actual fuck was that about?” Tim asked, looking at Jon like he hadn’t seen him before. Maybe he hadn’t, what face was this man going to be wearing when he spoke? His Jon, or the other one? He hoped for the first, the second was kind of a prick.

“What was what?”

“The whole hand thing? The whole pretending that we aren't together in front of the boss? It is allowed, you know. Diana and that creepy guy who does the maintenance have been married for years.” Tim was getting angry now, it was layered atop the anxiety that followed him around whenever Elias was about. The man really did make him uncomfortable deep to his core. He could take the sneaking about in the office, pretending that there was nothing more than friendship between them, but this was beyond Tim’s ability to comprehend. 

“Are you ashamed to be seen with me or something?” Tim asked, his hand tightening around the paper cup in his hand so much it threatened to split at the seams. 

Jon wouldn’t look at him. 

That was all he needed.

“You know what? Fuck this. If you’re that ashamed to be seen with me it doesn't matter, I’m done.” Tim’s rage made his heartbeat deafening in his ears. He threw the cup in the bin with such force it split on the inside of the metal frame, sending the scent of pumpkin spice into the smoggy London air. 

Jon shouted after him, but it was drowned out by the blind rage that pounded through his veins. 

What he wouldn’t do to have Danny to talk this through with right now. 

Suddenly he felt the loneliest he had in a long time.

**_*******_ **

  
  


**_Rule number #ten._ **

**_Learn to walk away. It hurts, but you will get through it. Sometimes the things that hurt us most are the things that we love. Also get a pet. They at least won’t feel embarrassed to be seen around you._ **

**_Actually. Maybe don’t get a cat. They seem to be embarrassed by most humans' existence._ **

**_XMrTX_ **

**_*******_ **

“Rough few days?” Martin asked as he slid up to Tim’s side at the bar. 

“Years? You mean years, right?” Tim flagged down the barman, indicating his pint and holding up two fingers. He turned to Martin; he was wearing a dark purple dress shirt under his jacket and had tried to tame his hair. It sat flat against his head, one errant curl trying to escape. 

“Date?”

“Absolute waste of time you mean?” He raised his eyebrow behind his glasses, reaching up to zip up his jacket self consciously. 

“Most are in my experience.” Tim pulled out his wallet paying for the pints that had been placed before them.

“Well this one was a textbook disaster from start to finish.” Martin nodded in thanks as he took a sip of his drink, the sharp movement knocking another errant lock from it’s neatly gelled position. “Izack was fascinating, as long as you spoke about his specialist subject… himself.”

Tim nodded “Ah yes, I know the type. Did daddy have money? Or was he a self-made entrepreneur?”

“Second one. Made a fortune in bitcoin and popsockets, if his guff was to be believed.” Martin shrugged. 

“What an empire! Sorry for your loss.” Tim nudged his side with a grin “Will you settle for an evening with a lonely researcher? Who somehow, you knew exactly where to find on this thrilling Friday night?” Martin looked him up and down and Tim tried not to preen under the attention.

“I mean. It's a sacrifice. I had a date lined up with a Saudi prince at half eight, you might have to promise me a share in your family fortune to guarantee my time.” The deadpan look on Martin’s face was the selling point. How did he always know how to make Tim feel better?

Tim reached into his pocket, pulling out a half eaten packet of polos, fifty pence and his keys. 

“I can offer you half of my worldly possessions. So twenty five pence, four polos and we might have to barter for the keyrings. I’d quite like to keep Link, but you can have Luigi if that's agreeable to your terms?”

Martin pretended to contemplate the offer. “Make it five polos and you have a deal, who needs an oil field anyway.”

Tim held out a hand for Martin to shake. “That’s a deal good sir, also next rounds on you.”

“Thought it might be.” Martin shook his head affectionately. “Being your work spouse is an expensive business.”

They were four pints deep and Martin’s hair was well and truly back to its messy self. If Tim was being honest with himself, and this many pints in he was his own most reliable source, Martin looked better like this. Martin just didn’t look right when he was put together and presentable, that wasn’t him. He looked a million times better dressed down and rough around the edges; there was something comforting in it, it was just Martin. He had no need to try and be anything else.

“You never told me how you knew I’d be here?” Tim said, nursing his drink.

“I didn’t. I just wanted a pint after the bitcoin fiasco, I thought you would have been out with that mystery man of yours.” Martin was tapping away at his phone, the familiar sight of Tumblr was scrawling past. He had already shown Tim, in no particular order, a video of a dancing spider, a particularly good meme about taking the hobbits to Isengard and enough cat gifs that even Jon would have had enough.

“Bit of a sore spot, let's move on, yeah?”

“Shit, sorry Tim, I didn’t know.” Martin threw an arm around him giving him a gentle squeeze. “What chance have I got, if you can’t even keep a man? What are we like?”

“Hot mess mostly.” Tim saluted him with his half drunk glass. “We are obviously too devastatingly handsome to be tamed.” Martin’s laugh was like liquid honey, it really did warm him from the inside. 

“Is this where you spout out the old ‘if we aren't married by the time we're forty we marry each other’ line?” 

Tim chewed on his bottom lip as he contemplated the idea. There could be worse things. “The world couldn’t handle it, we would be too powerful. They would need all the dragon balls and the power of Sailor Mercury to contain our all-consuming awesomeness. The world would implode, total armageddon.”

“That’s a lot of power.” Martin grinned down at him giving him another gentle squeeze before moving to get the next round in. 

“If you strike me down, I will become more powerful than you can ever imagine…” Tim gestured to the world in general, watching as Martin rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to expose his broad arms to the gathering warmth of the pub. It was a sight that Tim was happy to take in, why was everything just so charming when it came to Blackwood?

“Alright Obi-Wan, your geek is showing.” 

Tim looked down at his pants, then back up to Martin with a wink. “That’s what she said…”

Martin shook his head in disappointment. “Not your best work, it made no sense… you jumped the shark with that one.”

“Fair ‘nuff, I’ll take it out the playbook.“ He mimed crossing something off a list before him.

“I’m flattered you thought the nerd approach would work on me. Now shut up and drink your beer.” Martin ordered “I believe we were drinking our sorrows, not practicing your awful chat-up lines.”

“Who says I’m practicing?” Tim ventured.

“Me. Because you have obviously just broken up with someone. And somehow that's made you even more of a disaster than whatever went down between you and Sash. I am not adding to that mess, no matter how many shitty pick up lines you use on me. I know you better than that, Timothy Stoker.”

“How did you know about-”

“You and Sasha? I didn’t but you just confirmed my suspicions. For all that bravado, sometimes you slip up so easily.” He toasted Tim with his glass, looking extremely pleased with himself.

“Oh, you _ are _ good, aren't you?” Tim nodded in approval. This side of Martin always amused him, the way he could twist people's emotions and words against them. 

“You say that like you don’t know me at all. There was me thinking we had a connection, oh husband of mine.” Martin blew him a kiss.

“Sometime, I forget what a dramatic diva you can be.” 

“Pot and kettle Tim, pot and kettle.” Martin said with a wink.

  
  


*****

Jon hadn’t spoken to him in a month. 

A solid month of nothing but dagger stares across the ocean of carpet between them. Tim countered this by spending as much time as humanly possible being, quite simply, somewhere else. 

He had relocated to the library for the most part, less distance to travel when he needed a pick me up smile from Martin, and even less of a chance that Jon would cause a scene between the stacks. 

It was a perfectly reasonable response and reaction of most of the institute staff to live in mortal fear of triggering Diana's death glare, restricted access to the books and the dreaded ‘tut’ that had followed Tim since his early days in the institute. Nobody made a scene in the library less they activate the wrath of an angry librarian. 

But Tim had found refuge here and in the bunker, it was easier when the only eyes boring into his skull were that of a painting almost as old as the institute. He sat now taking in an architecture book that he had found tucked away in the very back corner of the vast hall, under the watchful eye of the institute founder. 

Tim tried to avoid that area of the library as a general rule, he hated the way Jimbly Megamouse’s eyes followed him around the room, it was eerie. But the book that Martin had tracked down on the computer system, and then in the manual records cards was apparently housed in the founders collection so this was where he had found himself, the piercing eyes of Jebbida Mobius staring down at him as he poured over the words of Robert Smirke. 

Why did the founder of the institute have a book written by the man who built the vast majority of Scottish architecture? Why did it tie in to the strangeness that lurked below Covent Garden? How deep underground did that structure extend? The steps at the tube station went down fifteen floors, a twisting descent that messed with perception. Who was to say that the tunnels and substructures under the theater didn’t go down just as far?

The further he dug in to the mystery the further he was from finding any answers.

He was so absorbed in a blueprint that he failed to notice when Jon walked up to him and took a seat in the chair out to the aisle, systematically blocking Tim from escaping even if he wanted to.

“I know I’m sorry isn’t going to cut it.” Jon spoke to the desk rather than Tim, his voice muffled. “I didn’t handle things in the best way… I was trying to work things out in my own mind and you didn’t deserve to be stuck in the middle of that.”

Tim refused to take his eyes from the book before him, reading and re-reading the measurements of some clock tower that he would likely never see in person. 

Tim would not give Jon the validation of seeing how hurt he really was. The rage had subsided to pain and then loss a lot quicker than it had with Sasha. But it still hurt, he just wanted...

What had he wanted from Jon? 

He was sure it wasn’t supposed to be serious, but he hadn’t wanted it to be hidden. It would have been nice to at least be able to say that one thing in his life was going right. But no, Jon had been resigned to keeping the thing that was making him happy under wraps and buried deep. It took a long time for Tim to put together the words he wanted to say, they burned in his lips like acid and he spat them like a last line of defence when they finally left his tongue.

“Maybe next time you decide you have feelings for someone, you wait until you're a hundred present sure before you pull them through the wringer? Just a thought.” Somewhere in the stacks a shuffling sound could be heard, Tim scanned the shelves but nobody was there that he could see. He chanced a glance at Jon, he looked ashamed. As far as Tim was concerned, he deserved to.

“You don’t fuck about with peoples emotions Jon, especially not friends. That's kind of the basics of being a mate and a decent human being.” Jon fidgeted with the hem of his jumper. 

“Does it help if I say it really isn’t you? I mean I think if I’m honest, it won't ever be anyone. I think I’m just destined to die old and alone.” Jon was offering an olive branch, even if it was a dead dove that was delivering it, Tim could appreciate the gesture.

Yes Jon had hurt him, but Tim missed him in ways that surprised even him. Maybe they wouldn’t ever make it as more than just friends. But to be fair to Jon, it seemed like whatever internal discoveries he had been trying to decrypt he had finally found the cipher that helped all of it make sense. 

“I don’t forgive you, what you did was really shitty.” Tim said eventually, not quite able to catch Jon’s eye. He looked past him to the cold dead stare of Jonah Magnus where it loomed down above the bookcase. “But I miss you.” 

He really did, he could count his friends on one hand and Jon above everything had been his friend, it wouldn’t be perfect they would have to work at it but Tim was willing to give it a try. It was worth it when Sasha pulled the two of them into a bone breaking hug the moment she saw them talking in the breakroom the next day. 

Her smile lightened the room. “I knew you guys would work it out.”

  
  


*****

**Editor-In-Beef**

**_Martymcblackforsetgatau asked: I keep having disastrous dates after disastrous dates. The last POF date I went on did nothing but talk about himself for an hour. I saw the night out in the pub with a very close mate who’s stupidly handsome but having luck as shit as I am? Is this just adult life? Does it get better? Life can't just consist of failed Grindr hook ups and microwave meals for one can it?_ **

**_*******_ **

  
  


Tim looked at the screen name. It had to be a coincidence it had to be?

He clicked on the name and it took him to a blog that consisted of moodboards, pictures of cows, cats and the tell tale handwritten poems of someone he knew stupidly well.

Best not to answer this one.

Had Martin worked out that the blog he was following and asking advice was Tim’s? The ask didn’t seem to indicate it. He couldn’t help but imagine Martin sitting in a dingy flat, scrawling Tumblr on his phone, eating a macaroni cheese for one and that made him increasingly sad the more he thought about it. 

He would make a point to make sure Martin came out with him and Sasha more regularly, if he could bypass that constant need Martin seemed to have to make sure that his ungrateful mother was cared for. Tim picked up his phone, he searched for Martin's number and put the phone to his ear. It rang three times before Martin picked up.

“Hey dude, what are you doing Saturday?” 

  
  


Sasha nudged Tim along the sofa thrusting the bowl of popcorn at Martin where he sat at Tim’s other side. Martin jumped slightly, the sudden influx of popcorn impeding his line of sight to the television.

“Sash, it’s just getting to the best bit.” Martin complained as David Tennant strutted across the screen shirtless and wearing leather pants that looked about two sizes too small.

“Really? Really? That?” Tim looked from the screen to Martin, enjoying the way Martin rolled his eyes and flushed slightly. 

“What’s wrong with the good Doctor?” 

“I'd snap him.” Sasha pointed out, grabbing a handful of kernels and dramatically throwing them in the air to catch them dramatically in her mouth.

“She’s right, she would.” Tim nodded in agreement, after all he had first hand experience. 

“Maybe I like them scrawny.” Martin tried to duck around Tim’s hand where he was aiming for maximum annoyance level by holding it just close enough to Martin's face to be able to block his view of the movie, but not be touching. Martin batted Tim’s hand away, leaning closer in to Tim to try and see under his elbow.

“That’s you shit out of luck then Stoker.” Sasha added her eyes now fixed on the screen as Tennant bent over to pick something up. “I may break him but the view would be nice as I did it,” she conceded. “It’s the Jon paradox.”

Tim tried not to tense up in his seat at the mention of Jon’s name, tried not to think of the way the two of them would tangle themselves up on this very sofa, kissing until lips were numb and the world was solid again.

The thought hit him like a punch to the gut and it must have shown in his face because Sasha had frozen her hand halfway to the popcorn bowl. She gave him a quizzical look, but said nothing. Something Tim was immensely pleased about, he didn’t want to think about the series of crushing disappointments that stemmed from him not listening to his own advice, and he really didn’t feel like dragging it up in front of Sasha of all people.

“How can you not like Tennant? I thought you had a thing for nerds?” Sasha changed track.

“David Tennant is not a nerd, or at least he’s not Simon Pegg levels of geekdom.” Martin’s counterpoint was accompanied by the sound of crunching as he helped himself to another handful of snacks.

“So… is it the eyeliner? Cause if it's the eyeliner, I understand. But as the Doctor? It's a no from me, too much floppy hair and lip biting for my taste.” Tim distracted himself with the film. 

“It’s an acquired taste, I’ll agree.” Martin shrugged “I mean it’s not like he's that dude that's in all the things ... .” 

“Master of description and words Marto, that does NOT narrow it down.” Tim chuckled happily for the distraction.

Martin wafted his arms around clicking his fingers “What's his bloody name….” he muttered under his breath. Tim and Sasha waited patiently as Martin mentally went on a journey to try and identify the face in his head. “He was in Lord of the Rings…. And Doom … he was really amazing in Dredd even though he never took the bloody helmet off... Australian guy...”

“Karl Urban?” Sasha piped up.

“Yeah…yeah, him…”

“Oh yeah, I'd smash that.“

“Tim!”

“Well I would! Do you want me to lie about it?” Tim looked between the two of them.

“Fair enough.” Martin conceded. “But smash?”

“Would you prefer I used the term ‘make sweet sweet love’?” 

Sasha snorted the coke she had just taken a sip of as she laughed. “Please, never  _ ever _ say that again.” At Tim’s side he caught the flash of red in Martin’s cheeks, and the way his face cringed at Tim’s phrasing.

It was insanely adorable.

“I second what Sasha said, please never ever say that again…”

“Don’t say it again…ok…” Tim started tapping out a rhythm on his knee, the tune of a song repeating in his mind. “You can be loud as the hell you want when you're making loooooooove,” he crooned to the absolute exact effect he had wanted to achieve. Sasha shoved her hand over his mouth as Martin tried to do the same, the three of them dissolved into a puddle of laughter.

“That’s it, If Tim’s moved on to musicals we have no choice but to sedate him and remove his vocal cords, it's the only possible course of action.”

“He doesn’t have a puppet of himself we should be worried about, does he?” Martin glanced around the room as Tim wriggled under both sets of hands trying to stop him singing. He started humming other songs from Avenue Q against Sasha’s hand. Her palm tasted like butter and salt; he caught her eye and licked her palm, making her jump back sending the popcorn flying all over the floor.

“Tim. Did you just lick me?” Sasha said, wiping her hand on his trousers.

“Tastes like chicken,” he joked.

“You are disgusting.” Sasha groaned but there was nothing behind it, just playful banter between the two of them. 

When Tim chanced a glance at Martin the smile on his face was warm and wide and so genuine that Tim couldn’t help but feel a little pleased that today had gone exactly as he had planned. He had wanted to try and repair the last of the damage between himself and Sasha. He had wanted to make sure that Martin understood he was wanted, that he had friends, that he wasn’t doing all this alone, none of them were.

“I aim to misbehave.” Tim restrained from the finger guns but it was a close run thing.

“I am surrounded by idiots.” Sasha wrinkled her face up in disgust as she inspected her hand.

“Sexy idiots.” Tim corrected. 

“That one is open for artistic interpretation,” Sasha huffed, getting to her feet to grab the dustpan and brush to pick up the errant popcorn fallout. It had scattered across the cheap nasty lino that the landlord should have changed out at least four years ago, but Tim had a feeling they were waiting until Tim’s lease was up before they touched it. 

Maybe if it came to it Martin or Sasha might move in with him somewhere bigger, he liked having them around like this.

It was a flash of a thought, but he liked the way it had settled comfortably in his mind. 

Martin had gotten to his feet to help Sasha tidy the mess, the two of them pottering around the kitchenette laughing as they tried to maneuver in the tiny space.

It wasn’t perfect, life would never be perfect, but he had the building blocks for a life that wasn’t completely awful and right now, once he managed to bury the hurt that Jon had inflicted on him and allowed himself to move on, he was pretty damn sure that his life was on track to get better. 

After all, what was left that life could throw at him? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You ... yes you... thankyou for reading !   
> I've loved getting everyone's reactions to each chapter so much.
> 
> Keep it coming even if you just want to tell me to stop hurting Tim. 
> 
> ( the barge bookshop is real and I love it please visit if your ever down there in London)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha has a work related spiral.  
> Jon goes A.W.O.L ( again...)  
> Martin does a lie and   
> Tim makes tea....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thankyou to my wonderful beta readers and the artists that worked on this   
> I was going to post this yesterday but I looked at it and realised i had missed it in editing so 45 mins later and an entire cookie dough dessert and two coffees here it is .

**_*****_ **

**Editor-In-Beef**

**_Danger noodle asked: What’s the stupidest thing you've ever done?_ **

**_A: See previous blog posts, Bond and the Professor rate quite high on the stupid scale. Probably not taking my own advice? For all the handing out advice to others, I seldom take my own. I suppose it’s easier to see things from an outside perspective, isn’t it?_ **

**_Also, bleaching my hair blond and growing curtains when I was in my teens? That has to be right up there with the Limp Bizkit phase… yes, there are photos, no, you will not get to see them. Just know I looked amazing in a backward cap and cargo pants._ **

**_XMrTX_ **

**_*****_ **

  
  


Tim had waited exactly ten minutes after knocking before he pushed his way into the bunker. 

The room was currently being used to house the books that had been sent over from the Usher Foundation. Martin had spent the last week and a half sorting through the mismatched consignments; the two hundred and one page shipping list sat abandoned on the top of the nearest stack, the highlighter pen lay abandoned, lid off, evaporating into the dusty air. 

Martin was nowhere to be seen. 

Checking his phone, Tim watched as the clock clicked over to two. Martin never missed his tea break, ever. In fact, it was a running joke between them that the Greenwich Observatory set time by the clicking of Martin’s kettle, so his absence was odd if not a little unsettling. 

He was definitely at work, Tim had seen him wave as he did his rounds chasing borrowed books this morning. Tim had been counting down the seconds till his mid afternoon skive. 

Tim needed to get away from the chaos that was currently happening down in research. Martin was at least a calm in the storm. 

Something weird was going on in the institute, and it went above the usual levels of weird that seemed to blanket the place constantly. He and Sasha had watched as police officers followed Elias down into the basement, and waited for the staff memo that never came. 

That had been over a month ago, and still nothing was said. 

Normally the grapevine would have sent a viral email that rushed around the institute before it hit Rosie’s desk. 

Then she issued the usual work related emails should be business-only memos to every inbox, sometimes twice. 

But so far, there had been nothing, nada, zip, zero, zilch.

Even with Sasha’s hacking, the reason for the police presence was nowhere to be found; it was as if they had never visited the institute.

The news that Gertrude, the current Head Archivist, had gone missing, should have been more of a shock. 

But when the news finally filtered through the complicated web of gossip that weaved through the building, nobody thought much of yet another member of the Archive team disappearing. 

The Archives had an alarming turn around rate. 

Tim suspected people only took a job in the depths of hell because the pay rise was worth it. But even then, the lack of daylight and musty old documents couldn’t be that good for your mental wellbeing? At least he could sneak out into the courtyard and get a bit of fresh air and still hear his desk phone, lest Elias summon him to the office to address his expense claims a little more. 

In the few years he had worked in the Institute, Tim had successfully avoided the archives. 

Like most people who worked in the building, he considered the basement a no-man's-land, not to be ventured into without serious consideration, a death wish or a get out plan. 

Elias hadn’t been joking in his interview when he said that his head archivist was dangerous. Most people actively avoided her; she looked like an old nana, but Tim knew that made her all the more dangerous. 

Looks could be deceptive.

Of course Sasha was the exception to this rule and had been down there several times; she had a reckless streak a mile long and was renowned for being one of the few people in research who was not completely terrified of Gertrude Robinson. 

Tim blamed it on the time Sasha spent employed in Artifact Storage. Working with cursed objects must have turned off her self-preservation instinct. 

The same couldn’t be said for Jon. 

Tim was almost adamant that Jon actively avoided the basement, not that Tim blamed him in the slightest. 

Jon liked his routine; he had his comfort zone, the phone call and the resulting meeting with Elias would have sent Jon into a spiral. 

No matter what had happened between the two of them, Tim was concerned for Jon. He didn’t like the way he had been summoned out of nowhere up to the bosses office. 

The look of worry that had been on his face when he left research to go up to Elias’s suite had been almost haunting. 

It was so bad that Sasha, ever oblivious, had picked up on it, nervously tapping pens and constantly glancing up at the clock then back to Jon’s vacant chair chewing on her bottom lip, rinse and repeat. The phone call had been just after lunch, Jon hadn’t returned.

Tim needed to escape. 

The logical place was to visit Martin, his gentle, calm and positive attitude could always pick him up on a bad day. 

And that was what he kept telling himself, friendship and a calming presence that was what drew him to Martin, and not the fact that the more time he spent with him, the less the constant rejections from Sasha stung. 

Yet Sasha still stares, she still smiles, she still pulls on his heart in ways that were far too complicated to think about while his mind raced like this. 

He was constantly aware of the feeling of being watched. Something not unusual for the Magnus Institute but for some reason today it seemed to be considerably worse, like eyes following him around in a haunted house or constant surveillance from security cameras that would follow you everywhere in London, but this felt worse somehow. So much so he looked around him to make sure he wasn’t being followed.

He was alone, nobody to be seen bar the people having a sly cigarette down in the courtyard. 

He listened hard, noting the gentle electric hum of the overhead lights and the filament in the kettle getting up to heat. 

Nothing unusual at all.

So why had his fight-or-flight instinct kicked in? It prickled up the back of his neck, that feeling of eyes on him even though he was alone.

Why was he alone? 

im checked the time on his phone again. 

Where was Martin? As he waited for the kettle to boil, he gazed out the window to the courtyard. The dog was back. It sniffed around the bin, sniffed at a discarded cigarette butt and then jumped up on the wooden bench, looking longingly into the library. 

Was the thing really that desperate that it was begging for scraps around the institute when there was a perfectly good chip shop at the end of the street? Maybe it just couldn’t be bothered to fight Captain Chonk for the scraps? The tabby was watching the dog from atop the bike shed, her amber eyes following the dog as it sniffed hopefully at an abandoned takeaway container. 

Maybe it considered the Weight Watchers ready meals and pot noodle scraps as fine dining? Or maybe it was just drawn here, like every other waif and stray. 

The courtyard had become a communal meeting place for the strays of London, Jon was just as much to blame as Tim was and well, at least Jon ate now. If a cat had to be begging for a bite of his tuna sandwich for him to do it, well, that just meant two cute things to look at over lunch. 

The pain had all but filtered away when Tim thought of Jon now. 

He couldn’t blame Jon entirely, Tim should have known better than to trust Jon’s judgments when he was in such a state over his gran. That was all on him.

  
  
  


But it had been over a year now, if not longer. He didn’t regret his time with Jon, and he wouldn’t ever totally forgive him for giving him hope, but he understood. It had taken time, but the bridges had been re-built one tuna sandwich at a time. Sometimes things are just not supposed to be.

The kettle clicked, two tea bags, two cups, a routine well broken in through years or repeating. 

It was 2.05 now. Wherever Martin was, he wouldn’t be much longer. Best make his mug up, or his whole routine would be out of whack. 

Tim smiled at the image of Martin that floated in to his mind, hands running frustrated through his hair as he scrambled to catch up on his work for the day, the way he pushed his glasses up with the back of his hand when he was deep in thought, the way that he always managed to have the right words to say with that silver tongue of his, ever so much more talented at exaggerating the truth than Tim could ever hope to be. 

The lies flowed out of his lips like prayers. 

Not that Tim dared to think about Martin’s lips for too long, his daydreams never did them justice. 

And that right there was the problem, why could Tim not find the divide between friendship and more? Why was it so blurred around the edges and folded in complicated ways that would take forever to unravel? Why could he not file people into little boxes to keep his mind organised? 

Why did the whole thing have to be just so confusing?

Why had Tim come up to the library? Had he not learned his lesson? Too many complicated feelings ran through him as he thought of Jon and Sasha and the way they had left roots dormant but ever threatening to burst forth from his chest. 

He couldn’t do it again, he had to separate his feelings, this was why he had his rules, this was why up until he had taken this job he had stuck to them...Yet Martin was one of the few people he had managed to allow to see him for what he really was. 

He knew that Tim was vulnerable, knew his bravado was all an act...

“Fuck!“

Tim nearly dropped his cup, saving it just before it slipped from his hand. Swerving on the spot, he turned to look at the door where Martin had just entered.

Martin’s face was flustered, and panic was clear in his eyes. 

Something was wrong, and this seemed to stem outside the usual wrongness of Diana, the library or the accursed Klaudia Blackwood. 

The door slammed shut behind Martin, dampening out the gentle hum of the library.

Martin walked over to the piles of books and started banging his forehead, firmly and rhythmically, against one of the packing boxes. 

Slamming a hand down on either side of his head and gripping the cardboard until his knuckles turned white, a growl of frustration and despair absorbed into the cardboard. 

Tim carefully picked his way around the boxes till he was at Martin’s side. “Do I want to know what happened?” he questioned when Martin refused to look at him.

“I had a meeting with Elias.” Martin grumbled into the packing box, but to Tim’s relief he didn’t pull away from the tentative hand that he had placed on his shoulder. 

“I mean, I know that’s enough to drive anyone crazy, but why the expletives?” Tim’s inquisitive side was beginning to sniff at the air hopefully.

Maybe this had something to do with all the added layers of crazy that was currently making this place impossible to work in? 

It couldn’t be a coincidence that Elias was having meetings with people left right and centre, maybe they would finally get to the bottom of the mystery that had been eluding Sasha for weeks. 

Tim made a gentle humming noise indicating that he was listening if Martin cared to go on.

“I apparently have ‘the qualifications and the can-do attitude that he has been observing for some time,” Martin looked up at him, the scepticism evident on his face. 

“I'm getting transferred to the archives.” he said in the tone of a man about to hang for his crimes. 

“Are you serious?” Tim reached out a hand to stop Martin, he had been about to return to banging his head against the box. 

Placing his hand on the other cheek, Tim angled Martin's face to him. “Did you get a say in the matter?” Tim questioned, trying to ground Martin from whatever spiral it was the man was about to fall into.

Martin spluttered “Well, yes…”

“And you agreed to it?” he tried not to sound baffled at this choice, but couldn’t help wonder why he would take it, if the outcome was going to be this veneer of despair. 

Martin cast his eyes down, breaking eye contact, staring at Tim’s chest rather than his face as he tried to find the words.

When he did the sound was barely above a whisper, as if he were talking from whatever far away place his mind had taken him.

“The money is twice what I get paid now, and mum… well it means I can afford to send her to that care home she keeps going on about… and I mean I don’t want her to go, but I want her to be happy-”

“And what about you? Are you happy?” Tim cut across him. He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice when he spoke, but the hatred that burned under his skin at the way Martin’s mother treated him was hard to repress sometimes. Martin looked him in the eye and Tim felt that protective pull tighten around his heart.

“I’m-”

“-don’t lie-”

“No, I… I dunno, maybe? I mean at least if I’m out of the library I don’t have to hide from Diana constantly… and the extra money would be nice.” He pulled away from where his face had been resting upon Tim’s hand, the break in contact was all Tim needed to know that the other man was having some sort of internal struggle.

“But? I sense a ‘but’?”

Martin pushed passed him into the bunker. 

Tim had the feeling he knew why Martin was crashing, and he hated to see him like this. 

There was something almost painful tugging at his heart as he followed Martin to the sink. 

Martin had gone on autopilot, reaching out to fill the kettle. 

Tim nudged him, passing Martin the tea already made up in his favourite yellow mug. 

Martin had ignored it completely in his rush to escape confrontation. He blinked down at the cup as if it were dynamite about to explode, trying to school his face to something more held together, but Martin was failing. The blind panic was obvious on his face. 

Tim lent on the sink watching, trying to understand what was going on in Martin’s head.

He hated to see him like this. Even on days when Diana was screaming bloody murder at him, Martin kept it together with ease and grace. Elias must have really thrown him. He could see his body tremor as he tried to hold himself together. 

Martin took a sip of his tea then stared at it, as if trying to find the answers to the universe in the tepid milky beverage. 

He shook his head before gulping it down in one. 

His hands were shaking, and Tim longed to reach out and calm the tremble. 

There was nothing to stop Tim but his own rules...and he should follow them, but Martin would do the same for him, make sure he was ok, look after him.

Tim placed his own mug on the countertop and reached out, gently prying the yellow mug from the other man's hands where he was hanging on to it now like a lifeline, fingers going white where they gripped onto the porcelain. 

Martin followed the movement of the mug with his eyes, not really observing. His mind seemed to be trying to come to some sort of conclusion and Tim wasn’t a fan of the answer he guessed it had arrived at, not one little bit.

“I'm a total fake, I’m not even qualified for this job… I should confess, I should go up there and tell him-” 

“Martin… Martin. Look at me.” This time Tim did reach out, placing a hand on Martin’s cheek and moving his face till he could look him in the eye. 

Martin’s eyes had always been expressive, but now with tears brimming and threatening to fall, they were breathtaking. 

So many emotions paraded across his face, and all Tim wanted in this moment was to make some pain leave that procession. 

“You’re wrong.” Martin’s voice sounded small, his self doubt eating away at him.

“I generally am about a lot of things,” Tim agreed. 

“But not this. You are more than capable of working in an archive, it can’t be all that different from the library, and you’ve got everyone convinced you're some sort of library god. The handsome keeper of cursed knowledge and all that, the place couldn’t function without you at the helm.” 

The blush across Martin’s cheeks at the compliment that egged him on, emboldened, he pushed himself away from the sink and a step closer into Martin's space. 

“I’d... like... to believe you, but... we both know that's a lie.” Martin stuttered. 

Tim rarely had to crane his neck to look at someone, so the feeling of having to look up at Martin was new.

Would he have to stand on his tiptoes to kiss him? The thought flashed through his mind, and suddenly the idea of Martin’s lips on his own consumed him. 

He was about to step back, remove himself from the proximity of temptation, when Martin caught his eye, something sparked within them, and Tim knew he was fighting a losing battle. 

He had only meant to comfort Martin. 

When had harmless flirting between them turned into this? Longing glances and Martin’s perfectly delectable flush under his fingertips. He should drop his hand, he should move away. He had said a million times he was not-

_ Martin was kissing him.  _

_ His lips were as soft as Tim had always imagined, warm and tinged with a sweetness from the tea he had just consumed.  _

_ Suddenly nothing else mattered but the feeling of tilting his head up to meet Martin halfway, feeling Martin’s cheeks flush warm as his jaw moved to deepen the kiss. _

_ Martin's hands moved to his waist, nudging him till he was backed up against the sink.  _

_ One fell swoop and Martin had lifted him to pull him in further, Tim could feel the sink pressing against the back of his legs as he used his hands to steady himself, one twisting into Martin’s hair the other looping under the other man’s arm and cradling his back.  _

_ Tim wasn’t a stranger to the feel of Martin’s body against his own.  _

_ His sofa had not been designed to hold three half giants like himself, Sasha and Martin, so the muscles and strength should not have been such a shock.  _

_ Yet it was.  _

_ Martin picked him up as easily as if he was nothing, one quick movement that was it, what else was he hiding under all the layers of t-shirts and plaid?  _

_ Tim couldn’t think straight, mind racing and pulse pounding in his ears.  _

\--doing this again.

_ But here he was _ .

You would think after the awkwardness of Jon and the regrets of Sasha he would have learned, but let nobody say Tim didn’t like to practice till he got something right. 

The repercussions of this were already racing through his head. 

Would this make things weird? Would they take this further? Would they go on as if nothing had happened? And while he was at it just how did this keep happening? 

On the plus side, at least Martin didn’t work in the same office. 

If this was a stupid idea, he could at least hide his shame and just never leave the research offices ever again.

Martin broke away first, looking down at him with his pupils blown. 

All the uncertainty from before had left his features. “Tim-” he started, but the man in question cut him off.

“Anyway, as I was saying, the archives can’t be all that much different from the library, I mean what is a library but an archive for books?” He should move away, he shouldn’t be doing this, not again, yet he couldn’t think of a good reason not to as Martin pulled him by the hips back towards him. 

Martin who was always so grounded, Martin who was always ready to put others before himself, Martin who would, and could lie to your face and make you still think that butter wouldn’t melt. 

The man was a walking contradiction, and it was perfectly clear by the way he was acting right now Martin was very much the one in control of this situation.

“You talk too much, has anyone ever told you that?” Martin cocked his head to the side, his hands still firmly planted on Tim’s hips, Tim tried his hardest to form some sort of sarcastic answer but he was at a loss for words. “Have I finally managed to make the blabber mouth Timothy Stoker shut up?” 

Martin gazing down at him sent Tim’s brain into shutdown mode, he couldn’t stop staring at the way Martin's hair framed his face where it fell down messily around his glasses.

How was this man not taken? 

Well, apart from the crippling self hatred that Martin wore like a chastity belt. 

Tim was aware he couldn’t quite form words, so in their lieu he just nodded.

“If I’d known all I had to do was kiss you to stop your ramblings, I’d have utilised this information ages ago.” Martin’s smile had no right to have this power over him, yet Tim found himself hooking a hand into the front of Martin’s shirt and pulling him downward.

“I told you you were the keeper of cursed knowledge. Now that you know my secret, I might have to actually kill you if you divulge this information to any additional parties,” Tim uttered as Martin’s lips skimmed his own. 

“Better you kill me, than Elias when he finds out my entire life is a lie.” 

As their lips met again, (briefly, as Tim hadn’t quite finished what he wanted to say) Tim felt Martin relax into the sensation, making Tim realise just how tense he had been himself. 

Maybe this was what he had needed? Martin had always just been a fixed point, he was constant. He was dependable and trustworthy,  _ and he was biting on Tim’s bottom lip in a way that made him completely lose his grip on that thread of though _ t.

“No more pity party.” Tim mumbled against Martin’s lips, not wanting to come up for air just yet.

He was lost in the sensation at every point that Martin's hands, lips, thighs… any part of him really pressed against him. 

“You’re one to talk.” Martin shot back grabbing Tim in the small of the back and pulling him exactly where he wanted him. 

Martin's lips moved down to below his ear, shivering under each and every press of his lips; Tim could feel the amused expression on Martin’s face even if he couldn’t see it.

“Yeah, but mine at least was justifi-'' Martin cut him off with another kiss, rough and determined, and if Tim hadn’t already been sitting down, he would have been swept right off his feet. 

They were both short of breath when they came up for air, foreheads pressed together. 

Tim was sure he would have to remind himself how to walk if he ever got the feeling back in his legs from the force that Martin was pressing him into the sink.

“You’re going to use that information to your advantage, aren't you?” Tim questioned searching for something in the depths of Martin’s eyes, maybe he was looking for the lie, the twist and stab that had followed him ever since he got involved with the employees of the Magnus Institute.

“Possibly.” Martin nudged his nose with his own. He seemed to be thinking over something, his pupils flicking back and forth as he held Tim’s gaze. 

“You think I can do it? You think I’ll be okay in the archives?”

“Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it, I’m a lot of things but a liar is not one of them,” Tim nudged him with his forehead. “You're the master of deceit.”

“Really, Tim. I’ll take, manipulator of the truth, but I don’t lie.” Martin sighed “Well, rarely.”

Tim gently kissed Martin’s nose, the only bit of him he could reach in this position. 

“I know, Marto, I know. You only do it for the greater good, or tea. Let us never forget the bunker of tea that has served you well in your tenure as library cryptid.”

“Deemed Bigfoot by the research staff, maybe I really do belong in the archives.” 

“I know you’re supposed to be doing something better with your life than drowning in a sea of shipping boxes.” It impressed Tim, the level of conversation he maintained as Martin invaded his space like this. His mind was very much not on work right now. 

“And not Bigfoot, Mothman. Mothman is inherently sexier than Bigfoot on the hot monster scale.”

Martin’s face burned so bright Tim was surprised it didn’t blister his skin. 

He chuckled. “Why do you have a hotness scale for…you know what? I don’t want to know.”

Tim nodded. “A wise decision sir, a very wise decision…” He moved his head to pull Martin in for another kiss. 

He hadn’t realised just how much he had been craving contact until Martin had instigated this … whatever this was. 

He should establish what this was before this went any further, not that that had helped in the past. 

Tim was nothing but a train wreck when it came to his personal life. 

He didn’t want to drag Martin down with him, not when he was obviously already wound up tightly and ready to explode, anyway.

But the way Martin was kissing him now pushed all reasonable thought out of his mind. 

Seriously, why was Martin single if this was what was up for grabs? Martin pulled away, going rigid in Tim’s grip. 

He had flashbacks to Jon doing the same. 

Shit, was there a line he had crossed with Martin now too without realising? 

But Martin raised a finger to his lips, shushing him before any question had time to form. 

Then Tim heard the rapping on the heavy door that led out to the library. 

Reality came crashing back down around them. 

They were at work! How close had they come to just getting booted out on their arse?

Martin moved quickly to untangle himself and straighten out his clothes, Tim tried to pat the other man's hair back into place, but the usual Martin mess had taken hold and nothing was going to undo the erratic chaos that had been sculpted under Tim’s own two hands. 

Martin moved quietly. He was out in the main storage room before Tim had even managed to put his feet back down on the floor.

He had two choices: he could come out of the bunker and into the storage room proper and just pretend that he hadn’t just been kissed to within an inch of his life, or he could hide here and hope that whatever the person who knocked on the door wanted was quick. 

He glanced at his phone and it had gone three now, Sasha would be wondering where he was and he really didn’t want to add to the breakdown she was already on the edge of with Jon’s mysterious summoning to the big boss’s office. 

He picked the first option, there would be time for him and Martin to talk about it. 

After all, he was only going to be down in the archives. 

Tim took one last look around the bunker, the safe room they had found in the midst of mayhem. 

He had just snuck out from behind the filing cabinet that hid the door to the backroom when Diana pushed the door open to the main stockroom.

Martin looked up from where he was pretending to be deeply invested in the box he was working through, he ran his hand through his hair before catching Tim’s eye as he grabbed a random book from the box and handed it to Tim as he went past. 

“Don’t take it from the library, I still need to put it in the catalogue system, stick it on my return trolley when you're done, yeah?” 

“Absolutely, you’re a lifesaver. Thanks Martin.” He saluted as he walked past the head librarian. 

Diana didn’t even try to hide her look of disgust. 

Tim pulled a face behind her back as he walked past, Martin caught it but his face stayed impassive, just another skill in his arsenal of tricks.

As Tim headed out the door Diana had just begun on one of her rants, the subject seemed to be about Martin abandoning his role in the library after so many years; it was hard to tell around the hot air and nothingness that came from the woman's mouth. 

He dumped the book on Martin’s return cart without even looking at the title. 

As far as Tuesdays went, this one had definitely been one of the more interesting ones. 

He chewed on his bottom lip as he headed down to research; he could still taste Martin on his lips.

Sasha was nowhere to be seen when he got back; his mind wasn’t able to concentrate on work, he killed the last hour by watering Tiny the spider plant and deleting emails that he probably should have read but they had remained unopened in his inbox since Christmas.

If people wanted him that badly they knew where to find him. 

“Why are you smiling like that? What did I miss?” Sasha questioned as she slid back into the office, her arms full of the dark purple files that showed her trip had been to Artifact Storage. 

“Am I not allowed to smile now?” 

“Not like that you aren't.” Sasha eyed him suspiciously.

“Oh, Sasha. The sun is shining, it's almost home time and I have your wonderful company … what’s not to smile about?” Sasha shook her head as she took her seat. 

“I will get it out of you, Stoker. I’m a spy, remember?” 

“Can I not just be having a good day?” he asked, looking at the clock. Why wasn’t it half four yet? 

He grabbed his phone.

***To: Forest (M.B): Pint to celebrate the promotion?**

  
  


********

**_Editor-In-Beef_**

_**Yeah, I’m an IDIOT.** _

_**Apparently I'm adding Forrest to make it a trio of terrible choices. You lot should cancel me.** _

_**#goodbyeMrT** _

_**XXX MrT XXX** _

*********

  
  


It was well past half six and Tim had just taken a microwave lasagna out of the freezer when he got the reply.

***From: Forest (M.B): Sorry, Mum related code red. Tomorrow?**

***To: Forest (M.B): I’ll even pay.**

***From: Forest (M.B): I will believe it when I see it.**

Tim grinned as he shoved the ready meal in the microwave. 

This was a roll of the dice that even he couldn't have predicted. 

But he was here for it. 

Wherever and whatever it was. 

Plus, rule number seven didn’t really count if they didn’t work in the same department. 

It would be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See I can give Tim nice things.   
> I am Not a monster...  
> Happy New year.
> 
> I'm taking prompts in my ask box over on Tumblr @pezilla if you want a short drabble, I'm working on w.i.p but I'm stuck in lockdown and there are only so many times you can set fire to a sim or remove the pool ladders before it isn't fun anymore. 
> 
> as ever thankyou for all the feedback especially on the later chapters as they have been re written so many times. but I'm kind of in love with this Tim/Marto dynamic so it will be back at some point in another work... marto tim gerry love triangle maybe who knows. 
> 
> anyway happy new year I'm off to go pay a 500 pound vet bill because both dogs are now sick and the cat has decided to join in on the fun... its ok I don't need to eat its fine my furlough will totally stretch to this ... get pets they said it will be rewarding...  
> make sure your pet insurance covers all ailments kids. ( this is a pez public service announcement ) 
> 
> you all still here?  
> leave me a comment you know you want to


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in this chapter   
> Is that A DOG in the archives?

*****

**Editor- In -beef**

  


**Klingons-on-the-cha-cha-slide asked:**

**So I hooked up with my best friend last night, it was nice, but I’m really hung up on someone else.**

**Have I totally screwed the whole thing up?**

  


**A:**

**Buckle up for a bumpy ride.**

**The bestie is always a grey area, what sort of relationship do you have normally?**

**Is it friends with benefits?**

**Are they looking for more than that?**

**If you’re hung up on someone else, what were you looking to get out of it?**

**Personally, I'd invite them around to yours for mario kart, a kebab and a couple of pints and talk about it.**

**Maybe they just needed someone in the heat of the moment.**

**Maybe something else is niggling away behind it all.**

**Do not… I can not make this any more clear.**

**Do not…. Shag and run.**

**If you do kindly unfollow me .**

**XMrTX**

***********

**Editor- in-beef**

  


**reblogged**

**That’s- not-my-cat**

**Video I.D [Giant ginger tabby cat asleep in someone's lizard tank curled under a heat lamp. A large bearded dragon is tucked around its tail with its own tail splayed along the back of the cat. A sign along the bottom announces in huge letters I do not own a cat.] End I.D**

  


**We should all aim to be that cat, find a heat lamp and have a hug**

  


**XMrTX**

  


*********

  


As Wednesday’s went, he’d had better. 

  


It had started with the devastating revelation that Shakespeare's head wasn’t actually buried with the rest of him in his tomb. 

That headline had greeted him on his tube journey and sent him down a rabbit hole of fact checking, and tweeting old uni friends to compare notes. Then, that had led to him reading a seventeen page digest of an anthropological study on the verification of this fact by one of his previous university professors. 

  
  


He was ready to debate this new discovery with Sasha as soon as he saw her.

  


Tim was genuinely excited and a little put out, he had written part of his final thesis on burial rituals, and this new form of mapping and studying graves and tombs was  _ exactly _ his area of expertise. Unfortunately for him this new information made his thesis and final dissertation completely obsolete . 

  


Not that he used the degree for anything good, it was about as much use to him now as it had been when he first used it to get to the dizzy heights of the publishing industry. 

At least the certificate looked good hanging over his mantelpiece, or it would if he had one. 

As he headed up the steps to the institute he itched to info dump on someone, and he had a feeling that if he went to Martin it might never get a chance to be addressed, what with all the kissing.

Tim was definitely up for more of that if it was on offer.

  


Tim had been at his desk all of two moments before he got a call from Rosie. ‘could he go up to Elias’s office?’

What was so important that the boss man couldn’t wait until he had at least logged in at his desk? 

  


His mind kept jumping back to Martin as he shrugged off his coat, throwing it over the back of his chair . 

He couldn’t get his brain to untangle the complicated web of thoughts that dodged and weaved through his mind. 

The Shakespeare thing at least had given him something to fixate on and not think about yesterday.

  


He needed to talk to someone about what happened between him and Martin, but who exactly?

It wasn’t like it was something he could bring up with Jon ( who was strangely absent from the office this morning, his desk didn’t even look like it had been touched since yesterday, the half eaten rice crispy bar still sat sad and discarded in front of his monitor) It wasn’t the sort of thing they talked about, more of a subject they skirted around at all costs, and there was something unsettling in getting relationship advice from Jon of all people. 

  


Not because he was his ex, not because he was ace but because the man seemed to be unable to pass any sort of judgment without having every minute detail of the situation. 

Sometimes he was even worse than Sasha, someone who would quite happily sell her own mother if she thought it would help her solve a mystery. 

  


Either way, he didn’t fancy having to recount Martin thoroughly undoing thirty years of being the one in charge of a situation.

It had been nice, to not be the one in control for a change, and that in itself was a problem. 

  


The ghost of Martin’s hands ran over his skin, raising hair and gooseflesh where fingers had pressed and pulled and undone him . 

_ Focus Stoker, mind on the job.  _

  


He couldn’t stop re-playing yesterday over and over in his mind. 

He had known that he was starting to get feelings for Martin, but was the heightened emotions of the situation making it feel like more than friendship? 

  


He knew he hadn’t wanted to see Martin distressed, but the kissing? 

That had come from part of him that he didn’t want to acknowledge.

  


He was setting himself up yet again to be hurt and was starting to wonder when his modus operandi had been changed to self destruction.

  


Sasha was waiting outside Elias’s office when he made it up to the second floor. 

  


She sat in the same chair as on the day they were interviewed for the job.

Today she had a long grey woollen dress on and her top half was covered in some sort of hand woven shawl wrapped around her twice, he should have known she would look like she was about to trek to Antarctica. 

It had dropped into single digits and despite the heat wave they had promised late last week it had turned bitter cold. Sasha had done nothing but complain about it yesterday, at least up until Jon’s disappearing act.

  


She turned to look as he entered the room sinking into the chair beside her and nudging her knee with his own. 

  


“What’s this about?” maybe Sasha could shine some light on the situation?

  


“Not the foggiest, Rosie told me Elias wanted me when I got here this morning.” She indicated to her huge fake fur coat and her bag that she had discarded on her other side, showing that she hadn’t even managed to get to research before she had been summoned.

“We aren't getting fired are we?” she looked worried. 

  


Tim knew Sasha wanted to be considered for the role of the new head archivist, since it didn’t look like the old one was going to show her face any time soon.

So because of that Sasha had been going above and beyond to be a perfect employee. 

  


Short of them finding out her annoying habits of breaking into personnel files and bypassing the work firewall at least once a week, (something he was adamant , Elias was too computer illiterate to ever understand. He remembered the iPad fiasco. All that work Martin had done, and somehow Elias had managed to replace the entire catalogue with the shipping forecast and Minecraft memes of all things. How was a mystery that not a single person in IT or Sasha could work out.) 

  


He was sure that the only reason she would be fired would be if mass redundancy was on the cards.

  


That didn’t seem likely, the mysterious donors were still funnelling in enough of the folding stuff for the institute to still throw lavish parties and the climate controlled containment room in artefact storage had just been completed. 

That would have cost a pretty penny, so it wasn’t as if mass redundancy was even likely to be on the cards.

  


No, It didn’t seem like getting fired was an option .

  


So why they had been summoned to Elias office early on a Wednesday morning was a complete and utter mystery.

  


Until it wasn't.

  
  
  
  
  
  


“It’s a bunch of sexist bullshit is what it is.” he was livid on Sasha’s behalf, waving his hands in vulgar gestures back up towards the office they had just left. 

  


“Leave it Tim, I dunno what I expected really?” Sasha sounded so disappointed that it hit him round the gut with the same force as it would if she had just hit him with a hammer .

  


“You getting the job you would have been perfect for? If Mr regency aesthetic asshole hadn’t shafted you from a great height.” Tim huffed as they headed down the stairs and towards their new home in the depths of the institute. 

  


“I’m sure he had his reasons, and hey we still get a pay rise right?” Tim could tell she was trying to keep on a happy face, that only made him all the more angry, he wished she would just swear or cry or something… anything.

  


“But… Why Jon? I’ve been here the longest, I’ve got a degree in categorising things and you have the brains and the smarts to outshine ten of  _ Jonathan Sims _ , I don’t get it.” he ranted “It’s bureaucratic bollocks. This is what I expected back in publishing but this is just a glorified library, I knew academics were all a bunch of pretentious pricks, but this takes not only the biscuit but the entire fucking barrel and the last emergency hobnobs to boot ” Tim was incensed, he was angry to his core, he knew he was ,but not at Jon, not really. 

  


If Elias Bouchard was going to promote one of his friends he would have rather it been Sasha, who had actually wanted the job and not Jon. 

But he couldn’t imagine that Jon had gone looking for the promotion. 

  


He seemed more than happy to plod along just existing in research, anything for an easy life. 

  


He knew Jon was a bit of a perfectionist and he was ambitious, but this all seemed very out of character for a man who would rather watch documentaries on arable farming than come down the pub on a Thursday night and do the quiz with his friends.

  


Something was off and that weird feeling that he had come to associate with work nagged at the loose threads in his brain as he tried to rationalise the decisions of a mad man.

  


Tim was trying to calm down before he got to the archives, he really was.

  


Jon had asked for them personally to be his new assistants.

  


It was a pay rise and it was higher access to stored information that could help him a great deal, he still hadn’t moved very far further in his quest to discover what had really happened to Danny. 

The library had long exhausted its useful information on the circus and clowns, and he was loath to ask Diana for any more favours. 

  


He didn’t want to transfer to the archives, but Sasha had said yes… and that had been all he had needed to agree to the move to the basement. 

He hadn’t ever been a follower, but he would follow her.

  


As he had been steadily learning since he had started working at the institute , maybe he didn’t know as much about himself as he thought he did.

  


They had just got to the top of the steps down to the lower level, when there was a crash and a blur of yellow flashed past the swinging doors into document storage. 

  


“A bloody dog, what the hell was he thinking.” 

  


Tim recognised the voice but it took a few moments to register the owner, it was Jon who spoke as Tim discovered, as he and Sasha stepped into the open plan space of the archive offices.

  


“What the hell happened to you? And where is the real Jon?” 

  


Jon stood near the open door to an office that Tim assumed must belong to the head archivists. 

  


But he didn’t look like him at all. 

  


He had gone back to wearing that god awful maroon suit that he had worn on his first day in research, had swapped out his tortoise shell glasses for some sort of rimless monstrosity that did nothing for him, but the biggest change and the final blow was almost too much for Tim to take.

  


“Jon, what the hell you done to your lovely hair!” Sasha dashed over to Jon’s side, her hand almost coming up to rub over the stubble at the back of the man's head, that only yesterday had been home to curls that had fallen down past his shoulders. 

  


Jon didn’t acknowledge the question, but he did seem to be happy to see them. 

  


Even if they had walked through some sort of stargate and appeared in a parallel world where Jon looked like a stressed out maths teacher two days before GCSE’s. It was still Jon. 

  


Not that Jon didn’t suit the new look, he was making it work, it just wasn’t Tim’s Jon. 

  


He couldn’t imagine this Jon complaining about the low quality of modern vinyl after too many beers. 

He couldn’t even imagine this Jon even drinking beer. 

Maybe cognac or a nice merlot. 

He definitely wouldn’t be caught dead drinking craft beer down the local brew dog or god forbid dirty cocktails in the nearest spoons. 

  


Tim didn’t hate it. It just wasn’t Jon. 

  


“You took the offer?” Jon asked and Tim’s stomach dropped, he was using the stupid put upon accent that had become all but extinct in the time they had worked together upstairs. 

Tim hated it, but he would go along with it for now. 

  


He may be mad that Sasha didn’t get the Job she deserved but Jon was still his friend. 

A friend that he cared a great deal about. 

Enough so that he could bite his lip and pull out the Timothy Stoker charm. 

At least until he could get home and have a good scream.

  


“We sure did Boss, what was that about a dog?” he said, striding over to join Sasha who had now tucked her hands in her pockets to stop herself from reaching out to run her hands over Jon’s short back and sides, Tim understood completely the salt and pepper stubble did look inviting. 

  


“Don’t call me boss.” Jon sighed and the ‘academic’ deminier dropped for a second. 

  


“My apologies Mr Sims…” Tim gave a mock salute causing Sasha to chuckle in response. 

  


“Oh for heaven's sake.” Jon rolled his eyes, it didn’t have quite the same effect that it usually did with the old man glasses, Tim already missed the horn rimmed monstrosities at least they didn’t look so boring and formal, these new ones, they aged Jon by about ten years.

  


“Anyway… this dog of yours?” Sasha interjected, she had long ago learned to cut the two of them off before they got going. Right now Jon was setting Tim up for the perfect storm of torment that she felt much better heading off before Tim got into full swing.

  


“Not my dog…” Jon started just as a crashing sound came through the doors at the far end of the room. 

  


Three sets of eyes snapped to the doorway where Martin stood, arms full of Spaniel and looking like he wanted to be anywhere but in the spotlight.

How had Tim forgotten that Martin was transferring to the archives? 

In his defence he had been having a hell of a day, and it wasn’t even half eleven yet.

But still, after yesterday…

  


Martin caught his eye from behind the lump of wriggling fur that had wedged itself beneath his chin, its paws tangled up in his shirt and it’s wet nose sniffing at the spacer in his ear. 

The look of panic was brief and nowhere to the extreme as the day before, yet Tim wanted to both comfort Martin and hide in equal measures.

So much for having time to get his head straight before he saw Martin next. 

  


“You caught it then?” Jon stated the obvious, his harsh tone made Tim look away from Martin and turn back to Jon. 

Where had that hardness come from? Standoffish, quiet and aloof he had witnessed first hand but this? 

What had Martin done to activate the pissed off librarian that Jon was currently channelling. ( he made a mental note to make sure that Diana hadn’t died and was somehow now possessing his friend, after all Martin really did need a break from the woman) 

  


“Yeah… he... was under the pyramid of boxes ….near the fire escape…” Martin stuttered avoiding the glare that Jon was casting his way.

Tim had to intervene. Martin didn’t deserve the wrath of this parallel universes version of Sims.

  


This was not the shit show Tim had signed up to. This show wouldn’t even get past the pilot episode. 

  


“Isn’t that the little guy that’s been living in the courtyard with Captain Chonk?” Tim walked over to where Martin was trying his hardest to disappear behind the spaniel's ears. 

Reaching out to stroke the dog between the shoulder blades made it give up its constant licking at Martin’s ear to turn its big brown eyes to look at him, just as Martin gave out a wine of despair. 

  


“He dashed in when I had the door open, a car backfired and well…” Martin muttered to Tim keeping his voice low , even thought he was looking everywhere but down at him. 

Tim didn’t blame him, this was off the charts awkward, they hadn’t even had a chance to talk yet and all this was being dropped on them from a great height. 

  


Maybe the shit show was an office comedy? 

If it was, he wasn’t finding this season amusing .

  


Tim tried to keep his voice calm “He seems friendly, he must have gotten lost, thought it was strange when he was hanging around with Chonk, you know the whole ‘Dog’s and cat’s living together, mass hysteria’ thing.”

  


“Tim…”

  


“What? This is a time where Ghostbuster's quotes are perfectly acceptable, it’s not like you found the ark de covenant back there or area fifty one, it’s just a dog!” Tim raised his voice at that last bit, he hoped Jon picked up that it was directed at him. 

  


He ran his hand over the creature's tattered collar, it looked expensive if not a little bashed, so the dog was someone's pet?

  


Tim walked over to Jon and reached out one hand to him “Tie , give it up.” 

  


Jon glared at him for a moment before untying the slim black garment and handing it over to Tim with a gloomy look on his face, but he didn’t argue. 

  


Heading back to Martin he crafted a leash from the tie and slung it around the creature's neck as he undid the collar. Sure enough on the inside a phone number had been etched into the faded and scuffed leather.

He threw it across to Sasha. Who caught it with one hand. 

  


“Call fido here's owners will you ?”

She pulled out her phone, typing in the numbers on the illuminated screen as Jon went back to glowering at Martin in the dull light cast from the overhead lamps. 

Jon’s eyes were darting from Tim, to the dog then back to Martin. 

Finally they came to rest on the dog where Tim stroked it behind the ears.

  


“Do you want to pet the dog boss?” Tim asked knowingly. 

He had a feeling that Jon was probably just as weak to dog’s as cats if the good Captain was anything to go by.

  


“No Tim, I do not want to pet the bloody dog.” __ _oh_ , a ruffled up and grumpy Jon was always close to adorable when it wasn’t directed at you.

  


“I do however want to know why Mr Blackwood here is apparently part of our new team. I certainly did not ask for him.”

Jon’s anger threw him, he had never seen Jon like this and paired with the new haircut and the stupidly over formal suit, it was jarring and he hated it.

  


“Okay… firstly Martin was offered the job yesterday. Secondly it was me who told him to take it, three stop being a prick and four... if you hate the idea that much, take it up with the big boss man, he was the one that made the decision.”

Behind him Martin made a strange sort of noncommittal noise of agreement, this only fuelled Jon to turn and storm his way out of the archives and no doubt up the three flights of stairs to confront Elias. 

  


Sasha watched on as she hung up her call, the empty silence was almost deafening as nobody quite knew what to say, even the dog had stopped wriggling in Martin’s arms.

  


Eventually Martin spoke. 

  


“So that’s Jon then?” 

  


“That is indeed Jon.”

  


“Is he always so….” Martin trailed off as the dog returned to licking at his face, its paws now scrabbling for purchase on his shoulder as it sought out higher ground for maximum adoration. 

  


“So... much of an arse?” Sasha suggested.

  


“Well I …”

  


“It’s ok you can say it, whatever that was … well, he isn’t normally anything like that. Honest.” Tim returned to stroking the dog, if video games had taught him anything you do not give up the opportunity to pat a good boy. 

  


“Maybe all this time, his personality was stored in his hair?” Sasha said, scoping out the empty desks and claiming the one closest to the old iron radiator that ran along the wall, it sat under the slither of a window that showed feet passing on the pavement outside. 

  


“His hair?” Martin asked, adjusting his grip on the dog, hand bruising Tim’s as he did so, Tim tried to ignore the fact that it sent a jolt of excited energy through him when his fingers traced the back of his hand,  _ one overblown drama at a time Stoker  _ the voice in his head that sounded like his brother warned. 

  


“Yeah, it’s like he got a haircut and turned into the world's biggest asshole. Did you never see his hair Martin? My god it was a thing of wonder.” Sasha continued resting herself against the pipes, no doubt trying to warm herself against the bitter cold of the recently abandoned archives.

  


“I think I saw him in the library a few times, maybe out having a smoke in the yard, but I didn’t know that it was Jon, if that makes sense? He was never about when I was in your office, I didn’t know who he was until he introduced himself before and well…” he looked mournfully at the dog in his arms and shrugged. “As far as first impressions go that wasn’t the best was it?”

  


“I dunno, Tim accused him of being a fake shemp when he started in research and now they are besties, so you know… it might get better?” she tried to sound hopeful, but it fell flat. 

Sasha had a point though, Tim could just hope that Jon would thaw over time, hopefully a bit faster than it had taken in research, because that has been painful to live through once let alone twice.

Tim tried to give Martin a sympathetic smile, he had a feeling that it probably wasn’t all that convincing.

  


“Like Sash said, he will calm down, it will get better.” he offered, wishing that he believed what he said.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


It did in fact, not get any better.

  


After the dog incident there was the stapler incident. 

Then the incident with the spider, then the incident where with misspelling of a statement givers name. 

Then an interruption when Jon was recording, spilt tea near a statement... Martin had to do little but look the wrong way at Jon and was told abruptly ‘ get back to work’... the list of things Martin apparently couldn't get right was getting longer by the second.

  


This put Martin into a tizzy and because Martin was in a constant state of high alert whenever Jon was around that led to the mountain of a thousand boxes incident. 

  


It was this that finally toppled Martin’s resolve. 

  


Shaking and muttering to himself Martin sat in the middle of the mess, trying to organise the chaos that had once been a tower of filing bigger than Martin himself. 

  


Tim joined him.

Anyone who saw them sitting on the floor of document storage, surrounded by jumbled files and Martin banging his head against the palm of his hand in frustration must have thought it looked like something at the end of a disaster movie. 

Martin was a state, and the trail of destruction around them only added to the tableau.

  


“ I don’t get it, why does he hate me so much?” 

Tim scooched across the floor, closer to him than he had dared venture in weeks , and nudged him gently in the ribs. 

Martin looked up, and the little bit of Tim that still was trying to process his feelings for the man pricked up its ears in attention. 

They hadn’t been avoiding the topic, It just hadn’t come up and Martin had been in such a heightened state of anxious despair that Tim hadn’t dared broach the subject.

  


“He doesn’t hate you mate, he’s just going through some stuff.”

  


Martin screwed his face up in concentration “ _ I don’t count Martin as he’s unlikely to contribute anything but delays” _ mimicked Matin in such a good Jon impression it had almost made him look up to see if Jon had come out of the cave he called an office.

  


“Listen, Jon… he’s… an acquired taste?” Tim shrugged. “Me and him got off to a bad start as well, I would try not to take it personally.he can’t help being a pretty arsehole.” 

Tim had been watching the way Martin had been acting around Jon, and he had a hunch, just a smidge of a one, but he would be willing to bet that Jon’s looks had not gone entirely unnoticed. 

He reached out patting Martin on the arm.

“He will get over it. Just try and enjoy the view in the meantime. He will thaw out eventually, then.... _ Then  _ you might get to see the Jon Sims power move.” 

  


Martin looked at him in confusion, but that dejection was no longer holding its own in the man’s demeanour. “The Jon Sims-”

  


“Power move… honestly I defy anyone not to melt at the sight of that man when he gets his hands on a cat, it’s like one of them calendars you can order from the back of Attitude, you know the ones… with the firemen and the slutty professors…” 

  


Martin’s face flushed but it was the chuckle that fell from him filled the air with warmth. 

It had been a long few weeks, it felt like a lifetime since the two of them had a moment to breathe and just joke about like this. 

Without thinking Tim reached out offering up his hand to Martin to take if he wanted too. 

The other man looked down at it for a moment before moving his hand to weave their fingers together. Martin gave out a little huff as he squeezed. 

  


“Thanks Tim.”

  


“What for?”

  


“I dunno, being you?” 

  


“Oh you mean, handsome charming and a damn good kisser?” that gained him another chest aching laugh.

  


“Hum, amongst other things. But seriously, I dunno how I’d have gotten through the last few weeks without you.” 

  


“With enough tea to go into battle with the USA and staring at Jon’s arse while he walks away in a huff?” Tim suggested, and boy did he enjoy seeing Martin flush like that.

Yet it was tinged with slight disappointment that it hadn’t been the thought of him that put it there this time.

  


“You noticed?” Martin asked shyly.

  


“Dude, you're not subtle, like ...at all.” Tim gave Martin’s fingers another light squeeze before gently unlinking their hands. 

This wasn’t his story. He knew that almost as soon as he saw the look on Martin’s face.

  


“If I'd realised the way to garner your attention was to be an absolute arsehole to you, we would be married now, have two goldfish and a dog called Cat.” Tim would play this off with his usual fake bravado, but to fight for a possible relationship with Martin? That wasn’t a fight he had any energy left to go into battle with.

  


Martin nudged him in the side almost making him topple into the pile of paperwork that had once been the top of the pile of mount filemore. 

  


“You’re a nuisance, you know that ?” 

  


“You know how to make me shut up…” he wasn’t going to fight, but he wasn’t dead...

  


“Tim…” Martin didn’t sound completely put off by the idea, but Tim had seen the way he had looked at Jon, he wasn’t willing to push this thing between them, not if there was a slither of feelings for anyone else. 

He would joke and mess and pull the Stoker persona out so that Martin wouldn’t feel bad and he could pretend that he wasn’t disappointed in the blossom of hope being washed away by the tide.

Teasing Martin about kissing him was just as much of a defence mechanism as it was an Elastoplast holding back a crack in a damn, but it was all he had against the world.

  


“So that’s a...  _ no? A maybe?  _ Too making out on this pile of statements about….” he looked down at the top of the pile scanning it for content “... spooky mirrors that steal your soul… .” 

  


“ I didn’t say that...I mean … you know I like you Tim but...” he stuttered 

Martin’s face somehow got even redder as he tried to hide behind his hands.

  


“I get it. You're shunning me for Mr January, I mean it’s rude but I don’t blame you.” he half joked, but to be fair he loved Martin as a friend first and foremost and he really didn’t want to push it.

It was bad enough he had thrown his entire play book out the window not once but three times now. He really didn’t want to make it weird.

  


Was it weird that his current (What was Martin exactly? His Martin he settled on ) 

His Martin had a thing for his ex, it was fine, it wasn’t weird at all, no totally normal, not strange and unusual in any way.

It was _ fine. _

  


_ Fine. _

  


He had always had friends, he was popular, yet he had never managed to get so close to people that the lines blurred like this. 

  


“Wonder what Sash is like with a camera? "he asked , Martin looked at him confused “ Jon can have January through May, I'll take the summer months, cause look at me, who could deny the people of this delightful specimen in shorts and speedos, and you Marto, you get the Autumn months.” Tim heaved himself to his feet. 

  


“Why am I getting sucked into this ego trip of yours?” Martin questioned as he started handing the piles of paper up to Tim so he could put them in the waiting filing boxes.

  


“Because you look bloody good in yellow, all the nice autumn colours really, just what anyone wants in the cold autumn nights, their own personal Marto to keep ‘em warm.” he added a loaded wink to the end of the sentence, Martin bated his hand with the wedge of papers in his own.

  


“Now you're just being ridiculous.” Martin scoffed.

  


Tim grabbed the makeshift weapon and glared down at Martin, he was not allowed to belittle himself, not on Tim’s watch. 

Martin had so much to offer the world if he didn’t shoot himself down before he even got out of the hanger.

“Did you hear me complain when you bruised the back of my legs against a rusty old sink?” 

  


“No-”

  


“If you add a  _ but _ on that, I will take it as a personal insult to my intelligence and your faith in my ability to judge people.”

  


Martin fell silent, but he didn’t continue.

  


“Are we ok?” Tim dropped down on his haunches when Martin didn’t make it to continue passing things to him, staring idly at the back of his own hands where they had come to rest on a stack of files.

  


“Yeah, I just-”

  


“Have complex and varying feelings that you can’t get your head around, and you feel bad because your main concern should be your mum?” Tim suggested knowing fine well he had hit the proverbial nail on the head.

  


Martin gave out a despondent laugh. “Yeah. That.” 

  


Tim wanted to pull him in to a hug, but right now he didn’t trust himself to not to make this whole thing worse.

Martin didn’t need that. Not now, right now he just needed a friend. 

  


“You know doors always open at mine yeah? Mario Kart, pizza, laughing at losers on Tinder.”

  


“Aren't you on Tinder?” 

  


“Like I said , laughing at losers on Tinder, I’m allowed to pick on me you are not allowed to pick on you. There are rules. You are allowed to have a break you know? From your mum, from the skin walker who used to be Jon. From shit microwave meals and Greggs sausage rolls. I’ll even get Sash to bring her Gin collection. You ever seen Sash on the Gin. Woman's competitive as fuck, once she threw the controller in a fit of rage when I knocked her off rainbow road and put a hole in the wall. “

  


That made Martin laugh, a genuine laugh not one of the nervous ones he put on for show around the others. It was good to hear it again.

Maybe things would settle down. He hoped so, he quite enjoyed having his three favourite's here where he could see them.

  


Martin glanced at the files in his hand “Hey Tim, this one mentions a circus, you want it?”

  


He held out a hand to take the file, sure enough there in looping handwriting was an account of the Russian circus. Suddenly everything else paled in comparison to this scrap of a lead after months and months of nothing.

  


“Tim? Are you ok?” it was Martin’s turn to sound concerned, in his hand the paper was shaking uncontrollably. 

  


On re-evaluation, Tim realized it was actually him that was shaking uncontrollably.

  


This was not the time for a panic attack. 

He normally saved them for late at night when his mind would race and one thought would play over and over in his mind.

His chest felt like someone had trapped him in a vice, his mouth was dry and all there was in the world was that crippling loss that followed him around in the weeks after Danny had...

  


Martin placed a tentative hand on his arm trying to ground him. 

Tim wasn’t sure what had gripped him, but something about this statement seemed to hit him like a gut punch. 

  


He felt himself being dragged towards the breakroom , he let Martin lead him, happy to not have to think for a moment. 

Martin wouldn’t ask again, he wouldn’t pry … he would just be Martin and make sure he was okay without question. 

  


“What about the mess?” Tim asked when his words started to come back to him.

  


“It’ll be fine, not like Jon’s gonna leave the office any time soon, sounds like he’s in the middle of recording war and peace.” Martin shot a tentative look in the direction of the office. “And if he says anything, I’ll tell him to shove it.”

  


“No you won’t” Tim almost chuckled, it had been on the verge, it just wouldn’t form.

  


“Probably not… god I’m pathetic aren't I ?” Martin tightened his grip on Tim’s wrist. 

  


“A little, but it’s working for you, it’s a good angle.”

  


“Really Tim!” Martin said exasperated as he shoved him on to the breakroom couch “Is mid panic attack the best time to be flirting?”

  


“I dunno, I’ve found one of the best ways to tackle them is to cut people off mid sentence with a tongue down the throat.” he managed to pull a smile on to his face through the horrendous pressing in his chest and every single ounce of his being wanting to curl up in a ball and disappear. 

When he looked up Martin had gone the same shade as his favourite red hoodie and was apparently enamoured with the inner workings of the kettle.

  


“What's this about someone sticking a tongue down someone's throat?” Sasha questioned as she swooped in eyes set on the fridge. 

She didn’t look at either of them as she rummaged till she found the can of red bull she had hidden at the back. “Is there office gossip I’m not privy to?” 

  


Tim glanced at Martin, he had filled the kettle now and was waiting for it to boil, tapping at the counter top where the wire ran into the wall, it couldn’t be that interesting? 

Tim Took it as a cue not to bring whatever had happened between the two of them up, at least not in public.

  


“Just on about you and your pulling techniques James, get a man drunk and seduce him like the assassin you are, Black Widow James, special agent.”

Sasha lent around the fridge door, throwing a long forgotten block of cheese at his head as she did so.

  


“What too soon?” he rubbed at the bruise now forming on his head, it had been a good shot.

  


“It’ll always be too soon Stoker. It's a trauma I'm yet to work through you ass.” 

The weight in his chest lessened even more when she hit him with the smile, that seemed so inviting he wondered how he survived before he knew of its existence. 

He had recovered enough to pull up his shields, hiding behind his walls had worked perfectly well for the last thirty plus years, the pain in his chest had lessened considerably knowing that things were going to be fine between himself and Martin.

  


“If you agree to dinner next Friday, at that swanky place up in Kensington with the fancy reviews, i might let you be privy to the hot gossip.” he tried to smile sweetly but he wasn’t sure he managed it .

  


“How many times do I have to say no?” She crossed her arms and lent against the fridge, but she wasn’t angry. 

He would wear her down eventually. 

Again.

Maybe.

  
  


“At least once more miss James.”

  


Sasha groaned “Pirates? Really? You're using pirates as a chat up line?” 

  


“Did it work?”

  


“No… I ‘ve heard all about you , Stoker.”

  


“Ah but you have heard of me…”

  


As the conversation turned to new subjects and he sipped on the tea in his hand, a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the leaves from his cup. 

Sasha was a gentle breeze flitting around him and Martin a grounding weight at his side, and for the first time in a long time he didn’t feel like he was spiralling out of control. 

He could get used to this.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cat update.  
> they seem better but the dogs been back to the vets a few times.  
> one cat has taken up residence in my cape.  
> I will start offering her up as a side quest under a strange glowing light soon I'm sure.
> 
> As ever thankyou all so much for the feedback and the comments and the general tangents that this comment section goes off on. 
> 
> catch me on Tumblr @pezilla


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter.
> 
> Sasha starts a cult.  
> Martin spils the tea (literally and figuratively)  
> Jon takes someone to bed, and Tim takes matters in to his own hands.

******

**Editor- In- Beef**

**Somebody once told me,**

**The world is gonna roll me,**

**I ain’t the sharpest tool in the shed….**

**Once upon a time there was an ogre who had swamp,**

**And in that swamp he liked to be alone, it was safe; it was warm, the Ogre couldn’t be hurt by letting himself get too close to anyone.**

**He liked his swamp, but whenever he ventured out into the actual world he would take upon the disguise of a handsome prince.**

**The Spy saw right through it, or at least they thought they did.**

**The Ogre still kept part of himself hidden, building up the walls again after the spy had stormed the castle.**

**The professor had tried hard to understand the Ogre, but had been too caught up in understanding the depth of their own confusion to take in the subtle shifts in the Ogre’s disguise.**

**The Ogre retreated to his swamp; it was safe, and it was deep within a Forest that protected him and saw him for what he really was.**

**The Forest took the Ogre and smothered it with friendship; it understood his monstrous side and loved him, anyway.**

**But it was not meant to be.**

**The Forest belonged to another, it just didn’t know it yet.**

**So the Oger waited.**

**Someday he hoped the Spy would return to him, he had made a space for her to be safe if she needed him.**

**He left the drawbridge down just in case. . .**

**XMrTx**

  
  


*****

“It says here that there are several ways to tell if he’s into you.”

Sasha gestures to the glossy magazine on the break table, the contents of her sandwich dangerously close to becoming one with the brightly colored double page spread that had enthralled her attention. 

Tim pulled the magazine towards him, eyes darting to the page as he did so, almost upsetting the mug of tea Martin had just placed on the table next to his pot noodle. He sounded scandalised when he finally spoke; the magazine seemed to have insulted him personally.

“I can save you the time and the effort. Seven steps? It's like six steps too many when I could just say ‘Sash, I would like to do unspeakable things to you, but first cocktails’. It cuts out the messy bit in the middle.”

Sasha’s eye roll was audible as she snatched back the trashy magazine that had somehow made its way down to the archives rest room. 

It had been a slow day and the persistent rain outside made nobody in any rush to chase up on outstanding leads, lest they return looking like a drowned rat for their efforts. So now they sat, gathered around the meager efforts of packed lunch boxes brought from home and a bright yellow box of pure sugar that Tim had picked up on Elias’s bill. 

The designated lunch hour was almost up and Jon had yet to join them. 

He was tucked away in his office with the blinds drawn and the door pulled shut, no doubt buried in a statement, tape recorder whirling, the laptop forgotten. 

Tim watched as Martin sipped at his tea; he seemed to be struggling to listen to the conversation going on around him, his mind was elsewhere, behind a closed door, lingering on a cup of tea that had been received with a small smile this morning and not the usual cold glare of resentment that normally followed it. 

Tim got it, his two favourite boys had not gotten off to the best start, but there was no reason for Jon to be so harsh towards Martin, the man had come on leaps and bounds since Sasha and him had taken the rookie under their wing. Martin was smart, he was organised, he was almost the deadly hatric of downright adorable and Jon would see that if he got the stick out of his ass and stopped being a belligerent prick to the man. 

Tim got it, he really did. Jon had been dropped in it from a great height and it was as if Elias was just seeing what would stick, the man was drowning in his extra responsibilities and Tim wished that he would just ask for help. He knew Jon wouldn’t, it had taken almost a year to break down that stupid academic exterior of his the last time and Jon’s personal stakes were much higher this time around. 

Still, he kept catching Martin running around after Jon like a doting puppy, making him tea and fetching Jon things that had nothing to do with the case Martin was working on. 

The fact that Martin was always the first assistant Jon asked for when he needed something...well, that had piqued his interest.

Martin seemed resilient to Jon’s toxic personality. 

Tim had made a mental note to keep an eye on the two of them; for all the outward hostility that Jon had thrown towards Martin in the first few months, there was something bubbling underneath that caught Tim’s attention and curiosity. 

He had firsthand experience of Jon and his awkward relationship skills. He knew that Jon was always backwards at coming forwards in his personality, yet he seemed constantly to be having some sort of internal struggle when he was around Martin. 

It was interesting.

Martin was reading the magazine now, eyebrows furrowed in thought.

“Do people actually believe these lists?” 

“Body language: You may find that the person you have a crush on starts to mirror you.” Tim read aloud.

“What a load of bollocks.” Both Tim and Sasha spat out at the same time. 

Martin tried not to laugh when he looked up and saw Tim and Sasha perfectly mirroring each other, one hand on the magazine, the other propped under their own chin. Sasha sighed, releasing the source of Martin’s amusement, but Tim trundled on with his rant between bites of his pasta. 

“Well, it is! Point number three, awkward pauses and the inability to hold eye contact. Well, that could go either way, I mean Martin does that in spades, it doesn’t mean he's got the hots for every bloke that's in a position of power (Martin flustered and Tim glanced at him in a way that said’ am I wrong?’)…. And to be fair, if you just added being a miserable, angry git, they might well be talking about our dearest Archivist.” Tim was off on one, the full wind of his rant now taking hold as bits of pasta fell off the end of his fork. 

“I’m sure Jon can remember how to have some emotional range. He smiled once, I remember clearly. He’s got a decent enough smile if you can get past that stiff upper lip and the scathing looks of judgment...now I'm not sure if he has the ability to ever have feelings for another person, past his pet tape recorder that is, but-”

“-I have it on good authority that he has at least one ex…” Sasha sipped at her tea nonchalantly… and Tim felt his stomach drop. Did Sasha know about him and Jon? 

“Is that good authority you? Sasha James Super Sleuth?” Martin accused, glaring over the top of his tea. 

“I like to know who I’m working with, that's all, it's not a secret I'm nosey. The internet is right there.” Sasha waved her hand around now, her phone in the other as she scrawled through the gallery of thousands of photos. 

Tim felt that tightening in his chest loosen somewhat. Other than his blog (that was totally anonymous), no electronic trail existed that anything happened between him and Jon. 

He had promised that he wouldn’t tell anyone, and he didn’t really want Sasha to find out. He could feel that pull between the two of them again, he really wanted her to give him a second chance. 

“Did you hack something?” Tim crooked an eyebrow, leaning in to push Sasha’s glasses a little further up her nose. 

“Me? No, well... only a Facebook account, so it wasn’t exactly Fort Knox. Wasn’t that hard to get a bit more info on our glorious leader, well no more than what I already knew, it was just a bit of a back read through Twitter, a few name searches, only took an hour, it wasn’t much Jon keeps himself to himself but…” she thrust her phone out triumphantly, it showed what was obviously a graduation photo. 

Jon stood hand in hand with a tall woman, her jet black curls cascading around her face, matching the dark material of the robes she wore. Tim recognised her from the photo Jon had on his bookcase, it was Georgie. In the photo the two of them were smiling at each other, Jon’s hair framed his face, not so long that he could tie it back, but long enough to not make him look like the stuffy academic he was now and more like that person who had blossomed in the sunny spot in research.

“The boss is hot when he smiles,” Tim nodded in approval, “I mean he’s still hot, at least he would be if he got that stick out of his ass. Isn’t that right, Martin?”

Martin almost choked on his pot noodle “I wouldn’t like to comment.” 

“Tim, leave him alone.” Sasha reprimanded.

“Listen, Sash, I love you but I am not letting this one go.” Tim turned to watch Martin as he became increasingly interested in the phone in his hand.

Tim recognised the mobile layout of Tumblr, and had a moment of panic as he saw a picture of a corgi sitting in a pumpkin that he knew he had recently re-blogged. It flew past as Martin idly ran his thumb across the phone. To be fair, he had tried hard not to write about his own personal traumas on his blog for a long time, but the urge to write about the three of them had been nagging at the back of his head for so long now that he was worrying that if he didn’t find an outlet to vent soon, he might explode. 

He had been trying so hard not to linger on the connections he had weaved between himself and his colleagues, how they had all somehow taken a hold on his broken and shattered heart and slowly pieced him back together. He hated how each of them hid behind their own personas that they had carefully crafted, the face they shared with the world. 

Had they let anyone else see behind that veil? 

Did anyone else realise that Sasha was ruthless? Could match him like for like in wits and charm, that she clung like an octopus in sleep, all legs and arms wrapping him in a cocoon of warmth and safety? That she wanted to help but rarely knew the best way to go about it, her inability to read a person's emotions often buried beneath her logical and methodical way of dealing with things. 

She had never once told him it would be alright, that his loss would pass, that he should try to move on, something he hadn’t realised that he needed until she had slapped him awake with the hard realization that life had to go on. His feeling for her had never wavered, despite the distance that she had deliberately wedged between the two of them.

Had anyone seen past the overtly nice guy persona that Martin threw out into the world like a shield? Always so quick to care for others, that the way he could manipulate the truth felt like a hug made from a bubble of lies when it was done to protect you. 

When had anyone other than Tim just taken a moment to help Martin forget the weight of the world that he carried on his broad shoulders? It pressed and pulled and hollowed him out in equal measures. Tim would do anything to see that carefree smile upon Martin’s face, see that unplanned uncalculated impromptu chaos that he knew that Martin could easily cause with some well-chosen words and the right situation, he had become so timid under Jon’s leadership, and all that did was make Jon worse. 

And just when was the last time that anyone saw the side of Jon that was soft and open? Was it when they had lane entwined on Jon’s sofa, the wind and snow blowing around the rickety attic as a storm raged outside? Jon had gone back to hiding behind the ice cold wall that Tim could see was desperate to melt. 

Tim desperately wanted the old Jon back.

The one that would sneak bits of sandwiches to strays, would hold his hair up in a bun with a pen, forgetting until he had ink stains all over the back of his neck, jumpers smudged with blue and black blobs. The man that would come to the pub and rant on about the merits of vinyl over CD, who would ramble on about some documentary about savannah cats that he had seen at three am when he really should have been asleep. 

Tim wanted Martin, who would laugh and joke. Who didn’t jump at the slightest noise for fear of being discovered in a lie that made no difference to his ability to do the job, a job he was genuinely very good at for someone with no formal training. Tim missed the bunker.

He missed a lot of things.

He didn’t miss the way Martin and Jon would stare at the other when they thought nobody was looking.

“Do you, or do you not, think that the boss man is a snack?” Tim asked the room in general, but his eyes were trained on Martin who deliberately continued staring at the flickering screen of his phone but made a noise that sounded almost like a yes, just as Sasha shouted, “Jon! There you are, tea?”

“What are you three hollering about?” Jon asked, leaning against the door frame, an empty cup dangling from one hand and looking like he hadn’t slept in a month. And to be fair, he probably hadn't. 

“Sasha found some stupid article about how you tell if someones got the hots for you, I said it was a load of bollocks, but Sash thinks its got merits.”

Jon pursed his lips. “High quality research, I see.” 

“The very highest.” Tim jumped to his feet, walking over to Jon and throwing his arm around his bony shoulders. “I personally think the best course of action is always the direct approach, I’m obviously outnumbered.”

“Tim, you flirt with anything that has a pulse.” Sasha pointed out.

“Yes, but that is to get information, if it was serious they would get the Stoker smoulder, it's one hundred percent foolproof.”

“Yeah, its one hundred present done by a fool.” Sasha scoffed. 

“But it has an almost ninety-eight percent success rate, I’ve seen you deploy the smolder when it’s needed, tell me it doesn’t work?” he asked her sweetly, she shrugged and was about to say something when Jon cut across her .

“Statistically, if it doesn’t work two times out of a hundred, it’s not one hundred percent, is it? On top of that, that seems like a large test pool?”

“Just because there's no funding in this scientific approach doesn’t mean it-”

“Speaking of… Elias wasn’t to see you about your expenses,” Jon looked happy to have one upped Tim, plus he knew just how much Tim hated the big boss, he didn’t have to look so smug. Martin strategically placed the magazine over the box of cronuts, nonchalantly distracting Jon with getting up and turning on the kettle.

“Tea Jon?” There was no hiding the flush in Martin’s cheeks when he turned away from them all. 

It just underlined the conclusion that Tim had already attained in his own mind. It just needed to have a few of the variables tweaked for maximum testing. Scientific approach and all that.

Martin and Jon. 

He didn’t hate the idea. The two of them would be good for each other. 

He caught Sasha’s gaze. She had been watching as he harassed and wrangled Jon into the breakroom, shoving some pasta in front of him and handing him a fork. 

Something tugged at his chest, something in the way she was watching him was giving him hope. He wished that she would see that he cared for her, that it wasn’t all some sort of act. Sometimes he hated his own persona, but it was too late to change it now. Best play up to it, or people might notice the hot mess he really was.

“So drinks Friday? You in, Jon?” he said, clapping the smaller man on the shoulders again, needing at the mass of knots that made up the archivist's shoulders.

“Um I…”

“Don’t you dare say you’re busy, we know it’s a lie.” He felt Jon relax a little under his touch.

Across the room at the kettle, Martin was watching with a careful side eye, Tim could see him tracking the familiar way Tim interacted with Jon. In fact, he was so intent on watching what Tim was up to, that the boiling water from the kettle ended up on the counter rather than in the cup that Martin had aimed it for. 

Tim tried not to laugh when he caught Sasha’s eye as she jumped to her feet to help Martin clear up the mess before he did himself a mischief. 

“So boss, what will it be? You coming out or what?”

“Let me think about it?”

“What's there to think about? Spending time with my perfect specimen? Quality banter with Miss James and everyone's favorite teddy bear, has to be better than a microwave meal for one and a rerun of blue planet?”

Jon was taking tentative glances in the kettle's direction and the commotion surrounding it.

“If I say yes, will you please go back to work, or better yet... go and see Elias, like you were told to?”

“Anything for you Bossman.” Tim stepped back, shoving his hands deep in his pockets and firing off his best shit-eating grin “So that’s a yes then?”

“If it makes you do some bloody work, yes.” Jon muttered, turning his attention back to the pasta that had been forced upon him. By the sink Sasha and Martin had tidied up the seeping puddle and Martin was now carefully carrying two cups to the table. Sasha remained empty-handed. 

“Come on, I'll walk you up to alpha boss’s office, I need something from the library, anyway.” she said, nodding towards the hallway with a knowing look on her face.

Behind her, Martin took his seat again across the table from Jon and pushed a mug of tea in his direction. Jon  _ almost _ smiled as he reached out and pulled it towards himself. 

Almost.

Martin smiled to himself as he turned his attention back to his Pot noodle.

Tim loved to see it.

Sasha coughed in the hall to get his attention, and he was shook from his thoughts. He rushed to join her. She said nothing until they were out of shot of the break room and away from any chance of their voices traveling back down to the room they had just left.

“You’re a bloody health and safety risk. Poor Martin nearly gave himself third-degree burns,” she said as they started ascending the steps.

“That’s slander of the highest caliber.” 

“It’s only slander if it’s not the truth.” She stopped at the top of the stairs waiting for him to answer her. She was too aware for her own good sometimes. 

“What’s up with the two of them, anyway?”

“We appear to have rivals in our bid for the ultimate will they won't they couple,” Tim threw his arm around her waist.

“Well, we’re most definitely won’t they… but Jon? And Martin... really?” she shrugged him off playfully.

“First off, I'm wounded, secondly ouch. Thirdly, why not? I mean Jon is hot, Martin is hot… let them make a super hot power couple destined to be overshadowed only by your lovely self and yours truly.” 

“But Jon-”

“Is being a dick?”

“Is straight, I was going to say… but yeah that too,”

“Jon’s…” Tim shook his head; poor, sweet, innocent (well maybe not innocent) Sasha.

“Jon’s very much a player on Team Stoker. He’s almost as dangerous a double threat as I am. But I didn’t tell you that, I trust you not to share that with anyone, as my bestie, I'm calling up pinky swears.” He lifted his hand and held out his pinky finger till Sasha linked hers around his with a shake.

“I won’t tell anyone, I promise. Does Martin know that?” Sasha questioned as they reached the base of the steps up to Elias’s office suite. 

“Possibly? But it’s not like it comes up much in conversation. I mean, if they ever get past the scathing comments and pathetic apologies, it would be a minor miracle. Jon’s not about that, he keeps himself to himself, poor Marto thinks he hasn’t got a chance.”

“For now…” Sasha mused, tapping her fingers against her hip. 

“Sasha? What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that Friday night we push the gay agenda.”

“Bi agenda Sasha, the bi agenda… but I like your way of thinking,” 

Not that Jon hid his sexuality, he just didn’t talk about it. Maybe if they were all talking about it, Jon would throw Martin a lifeline. To be fair, just getting Jon to relax might be enough to cut through some tension that sat heavy around the archives would probably do wonders for everyone, Tim included.

“Well, first you have to go make excuses for your cronut crimes, “Sasha shooed him up the steps. “See you on the other side, my brave little soldier.” Tim was pretty sure that Friday would not go how Sasha had planned. 

But to find out if he was right or not, he had to get through this meeting with Elias first.

******

**Editor- In-Beef**

**I get a lot of asks that all want to know the same thing- Mr T, how do you keep such a positive outlook?**

**Well, a little thing one of my favourite youtubers likes to call the quest for positivity. You can’t control your circumstances, but you can control the way you react to them.**

**The glass should never be viewed as half empty. Chin up and try to find the positivity in everything you do. You are in charge of your own experiences and your own expectations. And if all else fails...**

**Cat videos.**

**XMrTX**

**********

  
  
  
  


“I told you he wouldn’t come,” Tim said as he slid on to the hard wooden seat of the booth at Sasha’s side. 

They had met up outside the bar a little after seven. Even considering the traveling distance to Jon’s home and back to central London, he would have had plenty of time to get here by now. It was pushing on half eight and Tim was getting itchy feet; he wanted to move on to another pub; he didn’t like the way the guy at the bar was looking at Sasha, and the longer they sat here, the more nervous glances Martin kept shooting towards the door. 

There was only so much more of the pining he could take.

“We should drink up and move on, Jon’s not coming-”

“Let’s give him to the end of this round, if he’s still not here then we can move on.” Martin muttered as he sipped from his still almost full pint. Tim had the feeling that Martin was stalling, he normally drank like a fish. More so since he had moved into his new flat and no longer had to worry about waking his mother up on his return. Tim wasn’t stupid, he knew the slowness of Martins consumption was in an effort to delay their departure in the vain hope Jon might turn up.

Martin kept playing with his hair; he had tried to tame it again, something that was just not possible, Martin’s hair had a mind of its own, it had fallen from its neat gelled back look almost as soon as they had arrived at the pub. 

“Martin, you're going to pull your hair out at this rate.” Sasha said, reaching out and calming his fretting.

“Oh, sorry.” He dropped his hand from his hair and started fiddling with the black spacer in his ear. The longer they stayed here, the worse he was going to get. Jon had a lot to answer for. His absence was tangible, even more so when Martin gazed at the gap to his side. Tim pulled out his phone.

**To Skinwalker Professor Sims:** **_Where are you!!!!!… you promised._**

**From Skinwalker Professor Sims** **: Outside.**

Tim showed Sasha the text. She squinted a little because she had her contacts in and couldn’t see close up. Her face crinkled as she closed one eye to bring the phone in to focus, lent into his side, as she grinned at the screen, then she squeezed his knee under the table. He waited for her to move her hand away, but she kept it in place, running a thumb over the seam of his jeans in time to the music.

Tim’s eyes focused on the door, his attention pulled between the sensation of Sasha’ thumb and the fact that Jon was about to play his hand. This would determine how much Jon had fallen into his old personality traits. Would it be the real Jon that walked through the door, the one that had blossomed and braved poking its head out in research? 

Or would it be the alternative version of Jon that was just as likely to still be wearing the same shirt he had been in for the last three days and look like he had never relaxed a day in his life? The intake of breath from across the table gave him his answer, Martin’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his head. 

Sasha suppressed a chuckle at the reaction, tucking her head against Tim’s arm as she used his shirt to muffle the sound. Tim scanned the room and spotted Jon at the bar. 

He couldn’t fault Martin’s reaction, Jon looked, for lack of a better, word hot. 

He had forgone the stuffy suit in exchange for his favorite faded black skinny jeans (they had always secretly been Tim’s favorite things to see him in), the light grey short-sleeve shirt over the top of a distressed Bowie t-shirt hugged all the right spots, highlighting the bit of muscle that Jon still hung on to despite his awful diet, lack of sleep and absolute zero concept of exercise. 

Tim missed the hair, the long hair had always pulled Jon’s out of work look together. But Jon  _ was _ working the salt and pepper look, even if it made him look about ten years older than he actually was. Thankfully Jon had forgone the hideous rimless glasses in favour of his old tortoise shell frames, it would have totally thrown off the whole ensemble. Plus, Tim wasn’t sure he could restrain from passing judgment on the monstrosities after a few pints.

Jon scanned the bar once he had gotten himself a drink. He cradled a bottle of Jet black heart in his hand, a hand, it surprised Tim to see. had a very familiar ring upon it. Tonight was going to an interesting one then, Jon was on the craft stuff and seemed to be attempting to be himself, his real self, not the watered down boring academic that had still hung on long after they had tried to snub it out.

Tim chanced a look at Martin, his mouth was practically hanging open. Tim tapped his leg under the table with his foot.

“Hey Marto, your gay is showing.” he stage whispered. Martin snapped his mouth shut, but he didn’t stop staring, not until Jon spotted them, that is. He maneuvered his way around groups of people till he reached them. As he got closer, Martin’s fidgeting (somehow) got five times worse. 

“Sorry I’m late. The tube went down, and I had to get the bus, I was worried I’d missed you.” Jon said as he got to the table. He looked at his options, realising that the only available seat was on the side of the booth next to Martin. 

The tell-tale tapping of a ring against a bottle was the only thing that gave him away. Tim knew that tic, he knew Jon was nervous. There was just a little bit of jealousy laced in his thoughts as Jon sat himself down next to Martin, and Martin’s face lit up like Christmas.

His feelings for both men were so complicated, the blur between friendship and other had been crossed in both cases. But above all else, his need to see them both happy surpassed any other feelings that reared its ugly head at times like this.

“Nice of you to join us, boss.” Tim saluted him with his half drunk pint. “We were just about to give up on you as a lost cause.”

“Speak for yourself.” Martin muttered as he finally started on his pint proper, taking a large mouthful and giving Tim a reproachful look over the lip of the glass. Tim didn’t miss the appraising look that Jon shot Martin from the corner of his eye, it had echoed the one Tim knew he had worn when Martin had rounded the corner to join him and Sasha.

Martin had the ability to completely throw your concept of him out the window with something as simple as putting on a smart shirt and doing his hair. The deep orange and yellow checkered shirt with its sleeves cuffed at the elbows had pulled the copper in Martin’s hair to attention, it had caught in the late evening sun causing his locks to dance like flame as he walked and the light caught the ginger undertone to his dark brown hue. Even Sasha had commented on how good he looked. 

Martin held himself differently too when he wasn’t at work. It was like he was willing to drop the charade; it was almost the Martin that Tim knew and loved sitting across from him now. 

Almost. The nerves were starting to kick in now, the fidgeting had returned as Martin clocked the glance from Jon.

The loaded exchange held for a moment. It would be adorable if it wasn’t so frustrating.

“SOOOOOOOO… “Sasha said, slamming her hands down on the table “What’s the plan, other than getting incomprehensibly plastered to help forget that we work for the academic world’s version of Stalin.”

Jon cocked an eyebrow at her. “I hope you mean Elias and not me?”

“Course I don’t mean you Jonathan, you're just a baby dictator, plus I would never ever flirt with Stalin, even if he was paying my wages.” 

Jon scrunched his face up. “When did you ever flirt with me?” he asked, confused.

“All the time, I'm just more subtle than Timbily here, and considerably less subtle than our sweet and corruptible Mr B in the corner, not my fault you're oblivious.” Martin nearly choked on the mouthful of beer he had just sipped. When he recovered, he shot daggers in Sasha’s direction. Jon didn’t seem to have picked up on Sasha’s neon flashing hint. 

“If we are just going to pick on me for the duration of the evening, maybe I should leave now?” Jon scoffed, but there was no resolution behind it. He did however glance again at Martin who was studying the diagram of a steam engine that hung on the wall by their booth, determined not to look at anyone until he was completely composed.

“Sasha… Sasha, my love, please restrain from picking on the boss man.” Tim was trying to find her angle here, the sledgehammer approach was apparently not likely to succeed, it wasn’t as if that was a surprise to him. 

He had been on the receiving end of Jon’s affections. The all-or-nothing nature of Jon Sims was a maze that was difficult to navigate. Even with a map. It would need a bulldozer to flatten the hedges, and even then it wasn’t totally guaranteed that you would be able to get out. With Jon there was no true north, and the compass probably span like mad if left to its own devices.

Sasha sulked. It was an adorable look on her; she wore it well; it tied in with the brightly coloured ensemble she wore; it made her look like some sort of anime character, or like she had just walked out of a Disney film, the nerdy sidekick to some super villain. She rested her head on her hands as she leant on his shoulder, staring at him.

“Fine, am I allowed to pick on you and your husband, or do I have to behave? I’ve had a drink now Timothy, it’s my god given right as your bestie to torture and drive a wedge between you and the hubby.”

That made Martin snap his attention to the table again, “Oh, me and Tim divorced, he gave the dog away…”

“What?” Jon looked confused. His eyes darting between Tim and Martin as he tried to fathom what on earth his colleges were on about?

“I did not give the dog away, he went back to his rightful owners, and we divorced on reasonable grounds Martin, our love was just never meant to last the test of time.” Tim was enjoying how gradually more and more confused Jon was getting. Satire was not one of the things that Jon could comprehend. His sarcasm was on point and his deadpan sense of humor was top-notch, but satire flew right over his head.

“We will always have document storage...” Tim said dreamily, laying it on thick to confuse Jon all the more. The man looked like someone had stolen a few pages from the middle of the book he was reading, and he had lost the plot completely.

“Why was I not privy to this information? As your best man and your work long bestie, not to mention being by far the most intelligent person on this table, I am disappointed in you both.” Sasha polished off her drink. “Quick, drink up, I need to get drunk to soften this crushing blow.” 

Jon looked around the table, trying to work out what on earth his colleagues were on about. 

“Yes, sir.” Tim saluted her, tipping his drink down in one, “Come on you two, keep up.” he shot a look over at Martin who had nervously downed half his pint in the time it had taken them to discuss the finer points of their dissolved work nuptials.

“You’re all quite mad.” Jon shook his head as he swigged from the bottle, but added nothing to his musings as he drained the last dregs. 

*********

**Editor-in-Beef**

**Bebidocrime asked: Best drinks on a night out?**

**A: Depending on the company, it changes. I have one mate who gets plastered on gin and is very competitive, whereas the other just wants to fight the world. Cocktails are a good mix, if you don’t like beer (pun intended). I am a child of the 00s so I’m not immune to Irn Bru and vodka. Although the hangover afterwards is not advised.**

**Never drink to forget.**

**Never drink to forgive.**

**And never get so drunk you don’t have a plan to get home safe, don’t make your friends have to be your mum. Nobody wants that.**

**XMrTX**

  
  


*********

“So…”

“So what?” Jon asked as they wandered towards the third pub of the night, turning on to the busy streets around Piccadilly and heading up into Leicester Square. They sidestepped tourists and darted across the busy road, narrowly avoiding almost certain demise at the hand of a red double-decker bus that insisted on taking the traffic lights as more of a suggestion than actual road law. 

“So… Martin?” Tim made the man's name sound like a question. 

“What about Martin?” Jon grumbled as he scanned the street, a little up ahead Sasha and Martin had paused to listen to a preacher outside the Lego store, he spouted words that Tim couldn’t make out, but seemed to amuse Sasha no end. 

Martin was easy to pick out across the top of the crowd, his mop of curls now long gone back to its wild ways. He was almost a head above everyone else in the crowd.The fact that he and Sasha looked like Saturday morning kids’ tv presenters in their combination of bright colours didn't exactly help them blend in. He watched as Sasha stole Martin’s phone holding it out before them, no doubt trying to take a selfie.

“He’s single, you know?” Tim cast out into the night seeing if Jon was drunk enough to bite. 

Jon’s line of sight hadn’t moved from where Martin and Sasha were now buckled over laughing at their own private joke.

“So is most of the greater London metropolis, I hear it’s quite common.” Jon said lazily, as he finally looked away from the crowd to look at Tim. His face gave nothing away.

So Jon wasn’t going to give it up easily. That was fine, Tim may well be a disaster when it came to his own love life, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t stick his nose in and medal with other people’s. If nothing else, he was sure that his stupid online alter ego had helped at least one hopeless case. This was just a matter of paying it forward in real life, not hidden behind a laptop screen or a phone.

They caught up to Sasha and Martin. The latter of the two had all but collapsed under the strength of his own laughter.

“You ok there Marto?” Tim questioned, but it was Sasha that answered. 

“You want in on Martin’s new cult?” she asked as at her side Martin gasped for air, rubbing at the tears of laughter under his glasses with the hem of his shirt. 

“Cult?” 

“Yeah, Cult of Blackwood, it’s in its early days, but I reckon it will get quite the following.” Sasha continued wrapping her arms around Martin's waist and attempting to squish his middle. 

“Daily squishes and fluffing of the floof are an important part of the daily ritual, the love is stored in the Marto.” She reached up, messing Martin’s hair even more. 

“Behold the mighty floof.”

“I thought Jon was the mighty floof?” Tim questioned as Martin wriggled free of Sasha’s death grip.

“He was….” she fixed Jon with an accusing glare, pointing at his hair. “But he cut it, the title has been revoked. Martin is my god now. The god of hugs and floof.”

Jon fixed Sasha with a matching glare. “Traitor.”

Sasha stuck out her tongue. They had reached that stage of the evening then? Time to make sure Sasha didn’t take her drunk self on a voyage of self-discovery. Tim was pretty sure they were still banned from the Disney store, after she decided that Tim was her favourite princess and refused to leave the Cinderella carriage until he found a frog to kiss.

“Grow it back and we will talk.” She pushed Martin towards Tim and Jon. 

“Till then hug the saviour you really don’t deserve for your disservice.”

Tim caught Martin in one arm, almost losing his footing and crashing into the crowd that had gathered around the street preacher, Martin grinned down at him. It was good to see the other man relax in Jon’s presence, Tim pulled him into a one-armed hug to appease Sasha’s drunken demands. Man, he had missed Martin hugs; not that they had been avoiding it, much. It was just that a hug from Martin could easily turn into something else if you let...

Suddenly Tim realised Sasha may not be as drunk as she was making out. 

_ Clever girl. _

Sasha stood tapping her foot, glaring at the three of them when Tim released the hug and Martin made no gesture to move towards Jon. 

“Sims, this applies to you too.” she demanded.

“What?... I?” Jon stuttered. It was a bold move and Tim appreciated the execution, tackling the awkwardness head on was definitely an approach. Although not one Tim would have utilised with the two men who were awkwardly hovering at his side.

“Sasha…” Martin had composed himself now, though the edge of the laughter still hung in his voice as he addressed her.

“Martin.” she parroted back to him. Stubborn Sasha was on the verge of raising her head. 

“Oh, for heaven's sake.” Jon exploded like a little ball of frustration. “Martin, come here.”

Martin looked like he had just got caught in the security lights trying to steal the crown jewels. But he did as he was told, stepping towards Jon. 

Jon opened his arms, indicating that Martin should place himself within them with a flick of his wrists. 

“If it keeps Lady Macbeth happy.” Jon addressed Martin matter-of-factly. If Tim had found the height difference between himself and Martin amusing, it was nothing on the difference between Martin and Jon. As Jon’s arms came up to meet behind Martin’s back, the top of his head barely reached the other man’s chin. He could have sworn he saw both men sink into the hug, but it was a split second thing, before they both jumped apart as if electrocuted.

“Happy now?” Jon grumbled.

“I will be happy when you admit Martin gives the best hugs.” she said swanning over and wedging herself between Tim and Martin, nudging the latter towards Jon again as she did so.

Tim spotted another of Jon’s tells. He reached up to tuck his hair behind his ear, something that his now shorn locks would no longer allow. He fumbled, then shoved his hands in his pockets. Tim knew this tic, Jon was trying to compose himself lest he said something he would regret later. “They are very good hugs, Martin.”

For the first time all evening the two of them actually looked at each other, Martin held eye contact for a full thirty seconds before looking away. (Tim had timed it in his head, he had almost gotten to thirty-one Mississippi. He was impressed.) 

“Anyway… where are we off?” There's that new gin place opened in Covent Garden?” Martin said, striding towards the cross walk, trying desperately to get away from the awkwardness that he left behind him.

Sasha hooked her arm in with Tim’s following in Martin’s wake, past the Burger King on the corner that smelt better than it could ever taste, and the chip shops and steakhouses that seemed far more tourist traps than any novelty teddy shop or giant M’n’M store ever could hope to be.

“Nah, not Covent Garden, let's go up Soho proper.” She squeezed Tim’s elbow. He hadn’t even realised he had gone ridged at the mention of Covent Garden. Sasha was always looking out for him and he would always be thankful for her being aware of what he wanted, often before he did.

“It’s Friday, won't the place be really busy?” Martin paused at the crossing. Glancing back over his shoulder Tim saw Jon shake his head once as if he were shaking away an errand thought, before jogging to catch up. 

“What’s the plan? It's getting late on a Friday and places will start getting busy soon.” he said as he pulled up beside Tim. 

Sasha hid her grin behind her hand. “Funny, that’s exactly what Martin just said.” 

“Well, he has a point.” Jon conceded.

Tim shifted from foot to foot. They had options, lots and lots of options… what had Sash said about pushing the gay agenda…

“What about KU?” he suggested. 

Martin looked at him, scandalised “Is that really Jon’s sort of place?”

“KU is everyone's sort of place, passionate men with their top off serving you margaritas and mojitos and cheesy pop music…” Tim waved his hand before him as if surveying the horizon “Totty as far as the eye can see.”

“What’s in this for me exactly?” Sasha battered her eyelashes at him, Sasha had no problem with Ku, it had been one of their regular haunts for a bit. 

“You can help me vet the talent pool for the next potential, Mr or Mrs Stoker. Since Martin no longer wants the Job.” Tim looked across at Jon, this was his chance to drop out if he wanted to. “Ku ok with you?” he asked, aware that this might be the line.

“Martin’s right, It’s not really my thing-”Jon started,

“See, Jon wasn’t going to want to go to a gay-”Martin rushed out.

“-Normally it’s a little loud in there for me. But I’m up for it if you are?” 

“-bar...oh…” Martin cut himself off, looking at Jon as if he had just declared himself some sort of god.

All four of them stood in silence for a moment until Sasha clapped her hands together.

“Ok boy’s, the last one in buys the first round.” she darted up the street to her left, dragging Tim by the hand. Glancing back over his shoulder again he saw Jon and Martin staring at each other. Both of them had their hands tucked in their pockets and both seemed to be at some sort of pensive stalemate. 

“Come on you two,” Sasha yelled back to them. “I need something made up of at least three spirits and a pink umbrella, it will not be a cheap round. Keep up!”

Jon gestured with one hand that Martin should lead the way. 

Sasha turned back to him, burying herself into his side, arm linked tight with his hand still firmly in hers. She led the way. She was positively bouncing along the street with the spring in her step. 

“You truly are a master.” He said low enough that only Sasha could hear him.

“Oh, hush. Suggesting a gay bar was genius, that’s all on you.” she squeezed his hand.

“Were not that bad a team, not really.” He placed his head against hers where it had come to rest on his shoulder.

“No. I suppose not.” 

  
  


Was Tim drunk?

A little. 

But he still had his wits about him, after all, this wasn’t his first rodeo.

The bright neon strip lights and the plush red leather couches lined the walls, the bar stools were all full of all sorts of interesting people. He liked this bar, the club on the floor below could get loud and boisterous but the bar, the bar was fun. A constant hive of people dropping in, dropping out and mingling amongst friends and people who they didn’t have to hide their true selves from. 

Martin’s eyes had darted around the room when he had first walked in. Although they hadn’t really ever discussed it, Tim had a feeling that this was on the edge of Martin’s comfort zone. 

Jon however seemed to take it in his stride, although he had taken to sticking to Martin like a shadow as they had waited near the bar for a table to become free. Jon was not exactly good with crowds, and it was busy. Friday nights always were, but possibly in just the nick of time a table became vacant and Sasha nabbed it, moving like a ghost through the swarm of people waiting to pounce.

Then Sasha had nipped off to the toilet, leaving Tim feeling a bit like a gooseberry. The awkwardness between the men at his side had dissolved with the rounds of cocktails.

Jon and Martin had actually begun speaking, actually talking, having a physical conversation at the bottom of their second margarita. 

The conversation was too low to hear over the top of the music but the sight of their heads bent towards each other, taking it in turns to talk animatedly about something filled Tim with a hazy jealous happiness that would become an oxymoron if he let it. 

Tim was enjoying the view. Both men were easy to stare at, and the way they were talking to each other, completely wrapped up in their conversation, gave Tim time to just enjoy watching them with neon lights highlighting the best bits. He really was trapped in the view, so much so he didn’t realize that Sasha had returned until she was almost on his lap. 

“You daydreaming about a Sims-Blackwood sandwich?” She waved a hand before his face before tapping him on the nose. 

“Sasha James, what sort of man do you think I am?” he pretended to bite her finger when she went to pat his nose again. He had no idea what had gotten into her tonight. 

It had been a long time since this comfortable comradery had been something that she had been willing to share in public. 

“Oh. Full names is it Timothy Wimmmothy Stoker?” She was very close now, leg almost hooked up over his waist as she hugged into his side. She was getting drunk, if she wasn’t already there.Her trainers squealed on the red leather where she curled up against him. It made Jon and Martin break away from their conversation; the noise had been so loud they had heard it over the top of Rihanna and her constant whining about an umbrella. 

Martin studied him, looking at his proximity to Sasha and the way his hand was wrapped protectively around her waist. Martin wasn’t stupid, he was well aware of how Tim felt about Sasha. It was something they had silently agreed not to talk about. But Martin had an ability to say absolutely everything in his expression without muttering a word. Right now he was asking just what was happening across from him.

“Yes?” Sasha asked nonchalantly.

“Another round?” Martin questioned. “Sasha, care to help?” or as Tim knew code for, ‘can I have a word?’ Sasha nodded, sliding out of her side of the bench when Martin offered her his hand. Tim didn’t miss the glance in his direction as he headed towards the bar.

He wouldn’t think about it, if he did he would drive himself mad. Last time Martin and Sasha had one of their ‘special’ talks, he ended up on the receiving end of heartbreak.

“You holding up alright?” Tim turned his attention to Jon. Other people's love lives were easier to understand than his own. Tim had meant, was Jon doing alright with the noise levels and the vast quantity of people who were making their way into the busy bar?Jon had never been all that good at busy places finding them a little overwhelming, but Jon was distracted.

“Fine.” He was watching Martin, he was not being subtle. 

“Oh yeah, I can see that.” Tim couldn’t keep his amusement out of his voice.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jon questioned. 

“Nothing at all, it’s just well, I've seen that look before.” 

“Really?” Jon sounded exasperated. “Don’t know what you could possibly be going on about.”

“Of course not. Jon Sims, you are a crap liar.” Tim slid further along the red leather seat so he could drop his voice and Jon could still hear him. “Martin gives good hugs, doesn’t he?”

Jon gave a non-committal shrug, but Tim had seen everything that was going on in Jon’s mind before. He had a feeling Jon was just getting to the same conclusion that he and Sasha had arrived at weeks ago. Had Jon made this effort subconsciously? Had he really been that unaware that his crush on Martin had only come to fruition tonight, under the influence of mixers and neon hazed influence? Tim didn’t think so.

But Jon could surprise him still, even after all this time.

Over at the bar Martin was chatting to someone Tim didn’t recognise. The man had placed a hand on Martin's arm and was leaning in to speak to him while Sasha tried to flag down a bartender. The Stranger was handsome, well built, muscles showing under a stupidly tight shirt. 

He was obviously hitting on Martin, Tim didn’t blame him. Martin was not only a snack but the whole damn buffet.He really scrubbed up well.Shame the guy was going to strike out, he was the exact opposite of Martin's type.

Tim chanced a glance at Jon. If looks could kill, this dashing outsider better have a good funeral plan. Jon fidgeted in his seat, and Tim tried not to feel too smug about the fact that he had been right.

“You know, Martin had no right to be so damn good looking.” Tim poked, Jon was most definitely drunk enough to bite now, if he wriggled the worm in his face enough.

“Really hadn’t noticed.”

“Course you hadn’t,” Tim continued “That’s why I thought I better point it out, you know what with you being… well, you...”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jon pushed his empty glass around the table.

“It’s just me ...pointing out.. that Martin’s a catch. That has to be the what? Fourth person who’s hit on him tonight?”

“Fifth, actually.” Jon muttered. 

“Keeping count?”

“I just like to monitor my subordinates.” 

“Oh trust me, Martin is nobody's subordinate.” Tim muttered under his breath.

“What was that?” Had Jon heard his mutterings? Shit. Tim had to distract him. Change the conversation. Jon looked like he was about to question him further and Tim didn’t want to throw a spanner in the works, not at this delicate stage of proceedings. It was one thing to make Jon jealous of a stranger, but to be jealous of Tim? Nope, that wouldn’t do at all.

“Hey Marto, did you get that man’s number?” 

********

Martin’s head lolled to the side as he dozed in the back of the cab. They had said goodnight at the taxi rank, splitting off into two groups when the night had finally come to an end, Tim knew the line was definitely drawn in the sand when it came to nightclubs. Unless it was a live band night, he wouldn’t last five seconds.

Tim had hated to call it a night but Sasha was drunk, and he couldn’t keep an eye on her and orchestrate the best way to get Jon and Martin to stop being so obtuse.Jon had bundled a drunk and clingy Sasha into the first cab (having successfully prised her from where she had attached herself to Tim’s neck) with his phone and a promise of showing her the fluffiest cat she had ever seen.

“It’s fine, she lives on the way home, I’ll make sure she gets in.” Jon had promised. He had hugged them all once before climbing into the back seat with his drunken cohort. Tim was sure he had hugged Martin for a fraction of a second longer than everyone else, but there was too much rum in Tim’s system now for him to one Mississippi that information coherently.

It had been but a moment for the second taxi to pull up, Martin had moved in not far from Tim’s place when he gave up his mum’s lease. It was a lot further out than Jon’s one bed deathtrap, and the little red counter ticked away the pounds as it snaked through the darkened streets of suburbia.

The sleepy head on Tim’s shoulder was indeed too much of a temptation. He reached up, placing his hand in the mass of curls that formed the cult of Blackwood. Martin stirred under the touch. 

“Don’t fall asleep, there's no chance I can carry you up your stairs.” he whispered.

Martin gave a sleepy chuckle. “Not sleeping, just resting my eyes.”

“Good night?” Tim enquired.

“Very.” he could hear the smile in the man’s voice, even if he couldn’t see it.

“So you and Jon?” Baby steps, Martin needed baby steps, the sledgehammer approach only worked on the boss.

“Jon…” Martin yawned. “We talked, did you see?”

Tim pressed his face into Martin's curls, hiding the radiant smile as he replied “I did.”

Martin hugged further into his side. He wasn’t normally an affectionate drunk, but then again Tim had never seen him on the cocktails, maybe spirits made him like this, it had definitely turned Sasha into Tim’s second skin.

“I also saw you knock back at least four guys in the bar, I thought you were looking for your happy ever after?”

“Maybe I was looking in the wrong places?” 

They rounded the corner to the estate that housed both their flats; the taxi pulled to the curb at the bottom of the looming structure of Martin’s complex. 

“Text me when you get in ok, let me know if your princess is in another tower.” Tim untangled himself from Martin reaching over and opening the car door.

Martin rolled his eyes as he stepped out into the warm night.

“And drink some water, future you will appreciate it.” Tim shouted after him.

  
  


**From Forest (M.B):** **In Water done, bed 2 hot, had fun, love you my fave nerd boy x**

**From Skinwalker Professor Sims:** **Sash home safe, put her to bed, she says to tell you this is your job?!? Left her a note to text you in the morning. Left her a pan to vomit in if needed. X J**

**From Bond Sasha Bond <3** **: tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiim…… Tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimmmm ikiv tup why jon ogne2 bes were u ? xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxs**

**To Skinwalker Profesor Sims** **:** **_thankyou, text when you get in safely ._ **

**_Martin also got in safe, I restrained from tucking him in and a goodnight kiss, didn’t want to step on any toes. XTX_ **

**From Skinwalker Professor Sims** **: Martin text me earlier, did you give him my number?**

**To Bond Sasha Bond <3:** **_Take your contact lenses out, drink your water, xxxxx_**

**From Forest (M. B )** **: Tim… did you give Jon my number? Why do I have Jon’s number? How do I have Jon’s number… Tim, what did you do?**

**From Bond Sasha Bond <3:** **poked mshef in the eyes this is ur falt , I still lwv you though, I’m go sleep now xxx**

**To Bond Sasha Bond <3** **:** **_Goodnight sweet dreams, drink your water.xxx_ **

**From Skinwalker Professor Sims:** **Tim… Tim, did you put Martin's number in my phone as ‘man crush Monday’ also, when did you have my phone?**

**From Forest (M. B** **): TIM STOKER I WILL END YOU WITH FIRE!**

**From Skinwalker Professor Sims:** **I am in my flat, you are an awful excuse for a man.**

**To Skinwalker Professor Sims :** **_So quick to blame me! Sure your drunk ass didn’t do it ?_ **

**From Skinwalker Professor Sims** **: This has your name written all over it.**

**From Forest (M. B ):** **I hate you.**

**To Forest (M. B):** **_No you don’t, if you hated me you wouldn’t be texting me. Good night, my darling husband. Try not to have too many pleasurable dreams about our good old boss. x_ **

**To Skinwalker Professor Sims :** **_No, it has Man crush Monday written all over it; you said it yourself x good night Jon x_**

**From Forest (M. B):** **… f. u Stoker. x**

  
  


Tim flopped down in his bed, fully clothed. 

The half drunk glass of water stood on the bedside table, distorting the alarm clock as he focused on the little blinking light between the hours and the minutes. He wished he could take the credit for the night's final act, but he could stand up and swear on Danny’s life that he had nothing to do with it.

The guilty party had been tucked in by another hand. His princess really was in another castle, and she was right, they really were a good team. His last conscious thoughts as he ignored the vibrations of his phone, was that Sasha was brilliant, and she had outplayed him at his own game.

Now if only he could work out the rules to the one she was playing, he would be happy.

It had been a long time since he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry was going to post this on the weekend but unfortunately we had to get one of the dogs put to sleep and as she was a support dog its been a long few days.
> 
> Your comments on past chapters have really made my weekend ive been re reading them to cheer myself up   
> So thankyou so much and know you made someone smile on a bad day 💗 
> 
> Anyway ...   
> I make a promise this is a terrible poetry free zone . 
> 
> X pez


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter.
> 
> Sasha has a cheeky Nando's  
> Jon becomes a duck dad.  
> Martin becomes an art critique  
> and Tim has a very good awfully bad birthday.

**_*******_ **

**_Editor-in-Beef._ **

**_I might have to give up my title as relationship guru. Remember the professor? Remember Forest? I think at this point Rule number Seven has been thrown out the window, I may have to strike it off the record. I may have to throw a cat at them if this unresolved tension doesn't disappear soon._ **

**_I have failed you._ **

**_I have failed myself._ **

**_Have a cat picture._ **

**_XMrTX_ **

**_Image I.D : [large chunky tabby with a tipped ear and large amber eyes licking its lips as it cleans its face with a large paw looks at the camera, it has a collar on and a name tag .] end. I.D_ **

**_******_ **

  
  


“No, it’s my birthday, you do not get to duck out of this one Sasha, even Jon is coming out of his hobbit cave to join us.” 

He passed down a filing box trying not to sneeze at the huge amount of dust that it disturbed as he did so, somewhere at the back of the shelf he could hear the tell-tale shuffling of a four legged assailant and wondered if it would be worth moving Captain Chonk into the archive to start paying back all the sausage sandwiches and kibble that she had consumed over the years. 

He hoped it was just mice, he didn’t think he could deal with Shredder and his friends hiding in the stacks. It was something about the eyes. He had read once about something called a Ratking , he never ever wanted to bump into one on a research trip, it was something straight out of a statement. He really wished he hadn’t googled it, even if the expression on Sasha’s face had been priceless when he shared it.

“I’m not ducking out, I’ll just be late. I have to see Mum and Dad off at the station, It’ll be seven at the latest I promise!” blowing the dust off the top of the storage box she opened the thing, visibly sagging when it was clear that this box was no less organised than the last ten had been.

“Bring Mummy and Daddy James to the pub, I think it’s only right I meet my new in-laws eventually, they might hate me ? Then what? What will that signal for our unyielding love story?”

Sasha let out a frustrated sigh as Tim jumped down from the ladder to join her.

“In-laws?”

“Eventually, you know when you realise that you just can’t stand to live without me as your number one boy.” he swooped in, pecking her on the cheek, she wiped it off with the back of her sleeve, shoving him playfully in the ribs.

“You are my number one boy Timothy, just… not like that.” It took her too long to add on the last bit, the seeds of doubt edged the words with hope again. 

She avoided his eye as he began pulling files from the box beside her.

He had noticed her gravitating towards him a lot more in the past few months, since the outward display of affection on their last office night out.

She would often come to join him deep in the stacks or join him as he walked to the tube, shoulders brushing, fingers brushing the back of hands as they delayed separation, the urge to invite her to his to eat and watch movies constantly edging closer to the tip of his tongue. 

He wanted her to understand that, yes he was a flirt, yes he was charming and forthcoming to a fault, but when it came to her, to  _ his _ Sasha, that was the only time it had any substance. 

“Well you better turn up, I dunno how long I can sit across from the Shakespearean tragedy of Blackwood and Sims. I know I'm all about the drama, but it’s my birthday, I don’t want to be third wheeling on the dorkiest relationship to ever blossom. I can’t deal with them texting each other and pretending it isn’t a  _ thing _ without you there to cushion the blow. I may actually die of awkward second hand embarrassment.”

“Now no need for that ...” he received a gentle smack to the back of the head with the manila folder that she had just retrieved. 

“What was that for?”

“Are you jealous?” she glared over the top of her glasses, genuinely interested in the answer. “I mean I know you had a thing for our Marto, is it bothering you that Jon is now the sole recipient of his love sick gazes? Are you taking that as a blow to that ego of yours?” 

Folding his arms across his chest he shrugged, Sasha didn’t have to be quite so observant.

He was a little jealous. But only because he wished that Sasha would look at him in the way he kept catching Jon and Martin gazing after the other. 

He had feelings for all of them, but the ones towards his favourite boys were edging closer to friendship, fading into nothingness ,the more he realised what he had for Sasha was becoming almost too much to handle.

“Oh now, don’t pout, it doesn’t suit you.” she nudged him with her hip. “I promise I will come out as soon as I can on Friday ok? Just make sure you end up near Euston around seven and I will be there, ok?” she reached out, placing a hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. Her touch lingered and Tim found himself shifting his own hand down to rest gently on top. 

Sasha’s hands were cold, they were always cold, she was the coldest person he had ever known, wrapped up in cardigans and jumpers unless it was the very height of summer and even then it was a rare treat to see her trying to soak up the sun. 

She sunk into his side now resting her head on his shoulder, close enough to smell the coconut in her shampoo and the sweet scent of the forbidden perfume he bought her last year for Christmas. 

He had bought it, despite her not being his secret Santa. Something she scolded him for, then proceeded to pull out a gift she had bought him, despite him not being hers. 

The woven bracelet sat just above the curve of his wrist, standing out in bright pinks, purples and blues. He looked at it now, Sasha’s hand sitting between it and the black band that represented his brother tattooed bold against his tanned skin.

He wore it on that wrist for a reason, when he tucked that arm under his head at night he felt closer to the two most important people in his life, even if he couldn’t have them at his side.

“Can’t believe you’re jealous. Martin still makes you tea, we all know that was the only reason you used to go down and see him all the time.” 

“Oh, now who sounds jealous? Don’t like sharing your man with another?”

Sasha huffed at his side pulling her hand back from beneath his and turning her attention back to the box before them, she pulled out another case file and began flicking through it. 

Tim had a feeling she was trying to hide something in her actions but he couldn’t read her expression, Sasha was too good at wiping all the emotion off her face, her poker face could rival the best of them. That was what made it so hard to know where he stood.

“I’m kidding Sash, I know where I stand, you’ve told me enough times.” he turned back to his own pile of statements poised to start labelling them with the post it notes and paper clips that he was adamant was not proper etiquette for an archive, but was apparently the way they were doing this anyway. 

She said nothing, but Tim could almost feel the eyes on the back of his neck and the way she fidgeted with the hem of her cardigan, she was stewing on something and Tim wanted so badly to know what, he wouldn’t push it. 

He couldn’t stand to let the thing in his chest get its hopes up just to be dashed hard and fast against the rocks, like a ship discarded in a siren's wake. 

At least .. not again.

They worked silently, moving comfortably each other's presence, orbiting around the other in well practiced routine, Tim thought back to the one blissful morning when they had woken up in each others arms. He wanted that again.

It wasn’t much to ask, he just wanted to have this one thing.

Him and Sasha, to keep it safe and protected it from the horror that he knew was out there in the world. A beacon of light in the darkness that could call him home. 

He hadn’t intended to pause and stare, but Sasha was busy twisting her hair up into a messy bun, pen hanging from her lips and eyes scanning a water logged document before her. 

She shone, but it wasn’t the home fires calling him home, it was a blue canary night light of a thing, reassuring, but he wished it could be more. 

“Sash?”

“Mhu?”

“You look really pretty with your hair up like that you know.” he wasn’t sure what had made him say it, it wasn’t to flirt, he just felt like she really needed to know.

“Sweet talker, I’ve already told you I’m coming out for drinks, no need to try and butter me up.” she didn’t look up from her work but he could see her smile where it tugged at the corner of her lips.

“Yeah, well I thought you should hear it anyway.” he gathered his things together, he needed to get some air, or at the very least some distance between him and the disappointment that he seemed to be setting himself up for yet again.

“Tim…” Sasha’s gaze followed him out of the stacks and along the hall, but she didn't make a move to leave. 

He was glad, right now he didn’t think he could take having to pretend that he was alright.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


******

Just as Tim had predicted, Jon had tried to get out of drinks. 

It had taken both Martin and Tim flanking him as he tried to sneak out of the archives, physically manhandling him away from the tube, then confiscating his oyster card and messenger bag before he conceited defeat.

The bag now hung around Tim’s shoulder clunking against his leg as they meandered along the river towards the London eye. 

Jon might be overly oblivious but at least he had the self awareness to know that his friends wanted him around. 

Despite everything that had happened between them Jon was still one of Tim’s best friends.

The world felt a little better when he got to spend his birthday around friendly faces. Even if the friendly faces had rushed ahead without him.

Tim was munching on a vinegar soaked bag of chips, trying to at least get a lining on his stomach. He had been out with Martin too many times to be foolish enough to attempt a night out on only a pot noodle. 

He was also trying not to take too much offence at the fact that Martin seemed to be incapable of keeping his eyes off Jon for longer than a few moments at a time. 

But it was a little rude. After all, it was his birthday.

The south bank was heaving with tourists and business people rushing to try and get to Waterloo, tour groups would stop abruptly in front of them trying to get selfies in front of the giant ferries wheel that dominated the skyline.

Martin even stopped to offer assistance to one group, speaking in polish as he brandished the camera. 

Jon looked on, Tim was glad to see that he at least looked a little ashamed of the fact that he had scoffed at Martin’s translation skills. 

Tim always liked it when Martin surprised people, too many people took him on face value. It would do Jon good to be humbled a little more often. 

They stopped off at a craft beer booth. (Martin’s round ’no Tim it’s your birthday first few are on us’) when they each had a drink they found an unoccupied bench close to a living statue and sunk down on to it (‘Recon you can make him move if you tried ?’ ‘Don’t be silly they are professionals like the queens guard but with more glitter.’ ‘Fiver if you can make him tell you to fuck off?’ ‘Tim no.’) , happily basking in early evening the sun that had not quite dipped behind the looming buildings along the Themes. 

They were pleasantly tipsy. 

They had stopped in at several watering holes on their adventure along the river.

It was a route Martin and Tim had taken many times in the past, when Martin had needed distracting from wherever his mind, or his mother, had sent him. 

Sometimes they even had Sasha with them and one memorable time Jon had even come out, before disappearing into the night somewhere near the houses of parliament. 

It had been so swift that Tim at the time had joked that Jon was a cryptid, and that was why he never came out, he couldn’t cross the river without combusting in a shower of flames and pixie dust or something.

He hadn’t missed the way Martin had looked at him as they stepped on to Westminster bridge, smirking when Jon didn’t suddenly disappear or turn into a scorch mark on the tarmac. 

Jon was watching the living statue intently, sipping on his beer. He was relaxed and for the first time in a long time, or at least the first time since the last staff night out, it felt like Jon had actually allowed himself this moment, to just be Jon.

His hair was getting longer again, nowhere near as long as it had been in research, but it was down past his ears now, almost long enough to tie it up again, when he had walked in with his undercut Tim had been able to do nothing but stare, it suited him, even more that the long locks that he had sported back in research. 

The short back and sides of the newly appointed head archivist had been jarring, like one random pink Smartie in a bowl full of blue. It was nice, but it just wasn’t right, and as Jon’s hair had gotten longer it felt like part of him was clawing back to the surface. 

The little things, they were creeping back in, the awful suit jacket hardly ever made an appearance now , and today Jon actually had jeans on with the waistcoat and shirt, even if it was plain black denim and not the warm reds and deep greens he had worn in research, it was a start.

He didn’t blame Martin for staring, Jon was quite the picture sitting in the hazy orange glow of the setting sun, his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow and gesturing wildly with his free hand as he prattled on about the history of street performance. 

Martin was following every movement with his eyes, and Tim was surprised to find that the pain he had been carrying at this development was not raising it ugly head. 

In fact right now he could think of nothing better than helping his two friends realize the way they felt about each other, even if it was to his own detriment. 

The beer went down quickly, and he was soon on his feet again getting another round in before the other two realised what he was up to, lest he get another lecture from Martin .

As he waited in the queue he glanced over to the bench again, Martin was talking animatedly now his unruly hair falling into his eyes behind his sunglasses, as Jon lent towards him an amused look plastered on his face.

Tim pulled his phone out and took a photo sending it to Sasha on snapchat, with the caption :  _ Have you seen what I’m having to put up with?  _

Almost immediately she sent back a selfie of herself pretending to cry one single solitary tear. 

She was in a Nando's, probably the one by the station. 

That was just rude, Nando's was their thing . 

He took a selfie tongue sticking out with the caption:  _ send my love to my new Mum and Dad. I'm sure they will appreciate my pain .  _

He was just about to slide his phone back in his pocket when it flashed up again this time Sasha was framed with two others, obviously her parents, her dad was looking sternly at the camera.  _ Dad says you're rude, put your tongue back in your head ,you tramp.  _

The smile tugged at his lips as he moved forward in the que, he was just about to send another snap when Sasha sent another of her own, a small cake in a takeaway box.

_ Happy birthday Tim, trains due in ten , See you soon XX. _

She was coming out, she had gotten him cake, he could live with love's young dream for just a little longer.

  
  


*******

  
  


How on earth did Jon and Martin not know the way the other felt about them? 

They might as well be walking along hand in hand with giant pink love hearts ballooned above their head, Tim had all but been forgotten as they stepped off the tube at Baker street and headed up the steps into the balmy evening. 

Tim’s phone buzzed as they reached the street level, the idea had been that they should change at Baker street and go to Euston and then on to Camden when they would meet up with Sasha. But Martin had suggested a pub near Regents park with a beer garden and it was such a nice night Tim really didn’t like the idea of sitting inside a dingy pub, they had enough dark and gloomy every day at work.

Sasha’s name flashed up on the screen as he pulled it up to his ear.

“Sash?”

“Where are you?”

“”Baker Street… Marto wanted to go to a pub near the park, Me… I fancy wandering to the zoo, recon I can get them to give me a penguin for my birthday?”

He watched as Martin scrawled through google maps on his phone, him and Jon fighting over the best way to get to the pub. Martin was adamant it was just around the corner, but Jon insisted it was at the far end of the park and over towards Great Portland street, Tim was none the wiser, but if he didn't get an alcoholic beverage soon one of them may end up being force fed a smartphone.

“I think you might be aiming a little large with a penguin. Aim smaller, we might be able to kidnap a monkey if we work together.” she joked down the phone. 

“I could be persuaded to pursue a monkey child, you drive a hard bargain James.” he almost walked into Martin where he had pulled up short just outside the exit. 

Jon was nowhere to be seen, he raised a questioning eyebrow to Martin who nodded at the Wetherspoons just to the side of them. 

“He’s gone to the loo.” Martin said in way of an explanation before leaning forward and grabbing Tim’s phone out of his hand. 

“Sassssssha, why aren't you here yet? Tim misses you.” he chirped down the phone “he’s pining, it would be adorable if it didn’t make him act so grumpy.” 

Tim tried to grab the phone from Martin's hand but Martin just drew himself up to his full height and moved out of Tim’s reach continuing his conversation with Sasha, an amused look on his face.

“Will do Sash, See you in a bit!” With a flourish he swiped the phone and ended the call, holding it above Tim’s head and the physical abilities of Tim, to reach. 

As he tried to grab it he leaned into Martin's space and Martin jokingly swept forward, pecking him on the cheek and catching him completely off guard. 

Tim rocked back on his feet, stepping back in shock as Martin took pity on him and handed him back his phone with a chuckle.

Just in time for Jon to come back out the pub with a carrier bag wrapped around his wrist. 

The look on Jon’s face was not one of amusement, nor was it rage, it was some strange twisted thing that Tim couldn’t quite place. 

“Am I interrupting something gentlemen?” He asked carefully. As if weighing up every word before he pushed it into the world.

Martin flushed, jumping back from the hold that he held Tim in, it had been a joke but sometimes jokes didn’t land where they were supposed to when in the vicinity of Jon.

“I was just passing a message on from Sasha, she’s on her way and she says to stay where we are.” 

Martin stepped towards Jon, but Jon didn’t move to meet him, Jon was too busy looking between Tim and Martin , a now puzzled look upon his face.

“What you got in there?” questioned Tim gesturing towards the white carrier bag that Jon was currently holding with a death grip.

Suddenly everything fell into place. 

Jon had seen the peck on the cheek and of course Mr conspiracy had jumped to totally the wrong conclusions. 

With one fluid motion Tim stepped forward practically picking Jon off the step, sweeping him off his feet while planting a kiss on his cheek.

Jon blustered, went red and raised his hand to the point where Tim had just pressed his lips. 

When he looked Martin was doing a very good impression of a goldfish, his jaw hanging slack and his eyes blown wide.

“Tag. Your it.” 

“What are we five?” Jon wiped at his cheek with the back of his hand, shooting tentative looks at Martin and moving away from Tim in the same instance. 

“No, Today we are six. after all, it's my birthday!” Tim shrugged. 

Hopefully that little display would be a quick patch to whatever stupid notion had jumped into Jon’s mind at seeing Tim and Martin messing about. Now to change the subject before it turned into  _ a thing _ . He couldn’t be bothered with  _ a thing _ , not until he was so drunk he couldn’t remember his name at least.

“What's in the bag Sims?” he batted his eyelashes, “No penguin theft until later.”

“No, strangely enough, I didn’t find any penguins in the pub. I did however acquire a carry out.” he lifted the bag and Tim could vaguely make out the shape of bottles and cans through the stretched plastic.

“I won’t say I’m not a little disappointed, but I like the forward planning.” he nodded, moving out the way of a group of German tourists as they headed past them and towards Madame Tussauds. 

Martin took hold of the carrier as Jon moved towards him in an attempt to get out of the school groups way. 

Tim didn’t miss the way Jon’s face lit up at the action. 

“Come on. Were in the worst place for traffic. Let's find somewhere to wait for Sash” Tim shouted over the top of the crowd. 

Nodding in agreement Martin and Jon headed around the corner, Tim congratulated himself at doing a good job as he followed them.

  
  
  


*****

  
  


“How long has this been going on for?” Sasha asked as she leant forward over the railing helping herself to bits of the cake she had brought for Tim.

The container was perched on Tim’s knee as he sat on the same railing Sasha was leaning on. He had taken a perch to enjoy the show and it was panning out to be a good one. 

He was excited to share the recap with the woman at his side.

“Since you called. Jon apparently had some very strong opinions on Sherlock Holmes.”

Jon was listing something off on his fingers, it looked like a rant, it sounded like a rant but Martin was looking at him as if he was reciting Burns or Keats. 

They stood in the shadow of the statue of Sherlock that stood near the entrance to Baker street. 

They hadn’t got very far when they had relocated. Jon had spotted the statue and the tour guide who was apparently ‘spouting a load of made up horseshit’. Martin had then pointed out that it was all ‘made up horseshit, when you really thought about it’ .

The resulting debate had been going on for a solid twenty minutes now and showed no sign of letting up soon, people were actively giving the two of them a wide berth, much to Tim’s amusement.

“Has he got to the racist bit yet?” Sasha asked, stealing the cherry Tim was about to eat straight out of his hand. 

He had been saving that till last, it was the best bit. 

Good job he loved her….  _ Liked her, let's not go there again Tim. _

“Yep, I personally think the world's most famous consulting detective was a brilliant bit of literature, but Jonny boy has not a single good word to say about the man.” snapping the now empty cake box closed with a sigh.

“Should we get him started on Humbldink Bumbersnatch?” Sasha said hopping the railing and depositing the now empty container in the bin. 

“Erogenous Bumblehole? No best not, he might make us go down the BBC. It’s my birthday, there is no time for picket lines and Jon going completely off on one.” 

Sasha took that as her cue to intervene, she walked up linking Martin’s arm and started to drag him, protesting , towards Regents park. 

Jon had been cut off mid rant and looked at them crestfallen as Martin looked back over his shoulder and mouthed ‘Sorry’.

“When did Sasha get here?” Jon asked as Tim fell in to step with him as he took up pursuit. 

“About ten minutes ago, you missed out on cake.” 

“Cake?”

“Yeah, Cake, a thing you have on someone's birthday, was nice too, had a cherry on it. You could have had some if you hadn’t been info dumping on the future Mr Sims.” Tim was nothing but persistent, if he kept it up he would get it out of Jon, he had to slip up eventually. The truth was always more satisfying when it came directly from the source.

“I wouldn’t have had any, Martin is allergic to cherry anyway.” Jon muttered, before realising that he had said it out loud.

“What has that got to do with anything?” Tim prodded. 

The only thing he liked more than winding up Jon, was getting Jon to drop himself in it, and he just had, not once but twice. 

He hadn’t bitten at the ‘Mr Sims’, but he had paid enough attention to Martin to know that he was allergic to cherry, what else was going on in that brain of his?

Jon had the decency to look embarrassed. Something that even when they dated Tim hadn’t quite achieved. 

“Care to elaborate on that internal monologue ?” he questioned. 

Did Jon really have it that bad for Martin? He knew Jon liked him, that was obvious but if Jon felt this strongly about the man, why had he yet to do anything? 

“Do I need to have a word with you Sims?”

Jon shook his head, he seemed resolved in whatever conclusion he had reached.

“I would have thought that I had been at the receiving end of enough of your words to last a lifetime?” Jon grumbled. “But whatever your hunch is, it's probably right.”

Tim tried not to look to smug, but it was hard. 

“I’m not going to push it-”

“Yet we both know that's a lie.”

“Okay … we have to work on this rudeness boss. But  _ seriously _ you need to address the giant Martin shaped elephant in the room eventually ” Tim kept his voice low as they started to catch up to the rest of their party.

“I believe, it was  _ you _ who told me to be a hundred percent sure about my feelings before I pulled someone else, and I quote ‘ through the wringer’.” he even did the air quotes, Tim was impressed.

“That was a good bit of advice. But in this instance I think you might have already gotten to ninety nine percent sure , the last one percent is just buffering.”

Jon seemed to be contemplating the idea. 

You could almost see the words turning over in his mind as they stepped across the zebra crossing and on to the leafy promenade of the park. 

The park was still a hive of activity despite the clock not long having ticked past seven. 

London didn’t sleep, and in the summer the outside green spaces would throb with the background buzz of families making the most of the late evening sun, groups of friends gathered around benches and on the deckchairs that scattered the parched and yellowing grass, couples taking in the promenades and Victorian walkways that carved through London’s precious green space.

They turned left and towards the boating lake, following Martin and Sasha’s lead.

Tim stopped in his tracks, they should have turned right at the gate not left if they were headed to the pub Martin had suggested. 

He was about to open his mouth to say something, but it seemed like Jon read his mind.

“Change of plan, it’s too nice a night to stay stuck in the pub.” he called as he rushed to catch up to Sasha who had paused on the bridge to Queen Mary’s Garden. 

Nobody could say the night was being predictable.

“Were going to soak up a bit of culture and probably more alcohol than is strictly good for you.” Jon fell into step with Martin as they walked across the bridge. Martin almost reached out to grab Jon’s hand, Tim was sure of it. 

He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep his nose out of it, and by the look of it Sasha was almost at the end of her metaphorical chain too.

  
  


*****

“I still don’t get it?” Martin said walking around the sculpture, he tipped his head upside down trying to get a better view of the man goat hybrid with its hands tied behind its back.

Its bronzed body was twisted in a way that didn’t look natural and as far as Tim was concerned it looked like it had just walked straight out of a statement. 

He had said the same about the three floating heads that had met them as they walked out the rose garden. Martin had been quick to point out the artistic merit to such a piece , Tim was just sure that if it had been dark the giant floating heads would not have looked out of place in an early Doctor Who episode. 

He said as much, and was shot down by Martin pointing out that the sculptures didn’t look like they would wobble if you walked past them.

Tim had been sternly told off by a park warden when he tried to prove his point.

Tim was sure if this goat thing turned up in artefact storage nobody would be surprised.

He took a swig from the can in his hand, watching from his sprawled out position on the dirt and fallen pine cones. 

“Well obviously it's about the dichotomy of man and his eternal struggle against the restraints of the world around him.” he spouted trying to remember the quote from pirates.

Beside him Sasha nodded in agreement, head resting on his shoulder as she took in the view around her. She was a reassuring weight at his side, and he was beginning to think that even if this was all he got he would be happy. Laughing and joking with his friends on a hazy evening as they took the piss out of questionable ‘art’ was not what he expected from his birthday, but he wouldn’t change it for the world. Especially as he watched Jon and Martin interact like this, both seemed to have dropped their guards completely.

Jon, who had copied Martin’s action trying to look at it from upside down, straightened himself before reaching out and placing a consoling hand on Martin's arm.

“I dunno how to break this to you … but… I think the sculpture just had a bit of a thing for bondage and  _ maybe _ a goat fetish.” he kept his face totally neutral as he spoke. But Jon’s eyes gave it away, he was trying his hardest not to laugh.

“Jon Sim’s, you don’t have to say exactly what we were all thinking.” squawked Sasha as she jumped to her feet pulling Tim in her wake.

“This is insanity. I'm being forced to consume indecent public art, when there's a perfectly good pond full of ducks right over there. Sod culture, I want to feed Donald and Daffy.” she announced, Tim was sure she was only one second away from stomping her foot and throwing a tantrum.

“But what about the artistic-” Tim started with amusement 

“Sod artistic interpretation, that thing looks like it was summoned by a drunk uni student, at three am, after watching the craft too many times. It’s in cahoots with the trunk standing elephant, stupid thing wasn’t even pink.”

Tim caught sight of Martin and Jon exchanging amused looks. They were standing stupidly close again, maybe Jon was finally growing a backbone and would do something, and Sasha and him wouldn’t have to force either man's hand.

“If you too want to lag behind and talk a bit more about your fetish goat man, we won’t hold it against you.” Sasha shouted back over her shoulder. She pressed into Tim’s side, her hand still wrapped in his leaning into him conspiringly. 

“Although I’m sure Martin would like to hold something against J-”Sasha muttered to him before he cut her off by sticking his hand over her mouth. 

She rolled her eyes over the top of his hand, ‘you’re no fun’ she muttered. He delighted in the way she moved towards him, it was almost too easy when she was like this, dazzling and brilliant but as mad as a hatter. 

“We have the alcohol Sash!” Martin waved the carrier bag he still held. 

Sasha swore against the palm of Tim’s hand, slowing down to a stop. They waited for them to catch up, Sasha grumbling quietly to herself about being outnumbered by idiots.

After Tim tossed his empty can in the bin next to the kiosk he fished around in his pocket for a pound to buy some bird feed. So he could see the look on Sasha’s face while she fed the bright orange ducks that bobbed on the surface of the boating lake.

She squealed, throwing her arms around him and hugging him like he had just presented her with the entirety of the London mint and not a small cup of slightly mouldy seeds.

The sun was finally dipping behind the trees when Martin and Tim cracked open another can each. 

They watched Jon and Sasha as they stood surrounded by greedy wildfowl, noisily demanding their wears.

“Watch out for the boating lake ghosts.” Tim shouted as both Jon and Sasha hovered unbelievably close to the edge of the lake.

“Ghosts aren't real, Tim.” Jon had completely dropped the act now, this was the side of Jon that had been almost intoxicating when he had been something Tim got to call his own.

Now it was just like a weight lifted of Tim’s shoulders that he hadn’t even realised he was carrying around with him. 

Jon was being Jon, and he could tell by the almost besotted look on Martin’s face that it was having the same effect it had had on Tim himself. It was hard not to fall a little bit in love with Jon when he was like this.

Tim was also at the getting drunk end of his night, he was not going to let Jon shoot him down, lovely or not, without at least hearing his side of the argument.

“Says you. I’ll have you know-”

“Watch out here comes some Tim fact that he read on the internet so it must be true” So Sasha was taking Jon’s side. Nice to see that the more things changed the more they stayed the same. Sasha James would always have to discredit something that he was about to say unless he had done the leg work and could back it up.

“I will have you know, my fact’s are 100% certified and validated by a credible resource.” 

Martin placed his hand on Tim’s arm, “Wikipedia is not a valid source Timothy.” 

Martin’s mimicking of Jon was getting better with each attempt. It was uncanny.

“Is that supposed to be me?” Jon looked affronted as he trudged over to them, a small possession of ducks and ducklings following in his wake. 

Tim would have commented on how cute Jon looked now with his little family of ducks, but Tim was currently being ganged up on, and he wasn’t going to let it stand. Although it was Sasha that jumped in before he formulated a response.

“Martin does a good Jon impression. It’s all the staring he does. He’s been mapping your every move, so he can murder you and take your role as head archivist. That's been his end game all along.” Sasha slung her arm around Jon shooing the ducks away with her foot, the novelty having worn off now that they had no seed left and the larger ones nipped at her ankles.

“Now come on, nobody's out to murder Jon, don’t be silly.” Tim peeled Sasha off Jon 

“However, I think you will find that Wikipedia is a valid source of information…”

“Get to your point Tim…”

“Ghosts, on the water…” he indicated the lake that now grew dark as the sun started to disappear, he pulled out his best Joe Spooky voice “Lake used to be much deeper, until early eighteen hundreds, people used to skate on it, have ice fairs, then it cracked. Two hundred went in forty froze to death or drowned because of the shock. They drained it and now it’s only four foot, so other than Jonny boy here even if it's frozen at least most people would be able to stand up. They say on a cold winter night you can see the drowned dancing on the ice.” Tim trailed off as three unimpressed faces looked back at him.

“Absolute bollocks.” tutted Jon.

“Said like someone who doesn’t spend day in day out reading creepy shit for a living.” 

“Now boy’s no fighting…” Sasha took another cocktail in a can from Martin. 

He was watching the interaction with a look of fascination on his face, the cogs in his head apparently turning and working to find some sort of logic to Tim’s words.

“ Why do you know that ? “ Martin asked. 

“Was in one of the books you gave me about circuses, they used to be part of the winter festival the city put on. Dunno why that stuck in my mind but it did.”

Sasha was tapping on his arm, a comforting distraction to the topic at hand. 

He didn’t know why he felt he needed to share that fact, maybe it had been haunting him since he read it back before they started in the archives. 

He felt a tug on his arm as Sasha tried to get his attention, became aware that the others were staring at him now, had the conversation moved on?

His mind had wandered to Danny. 

“Come on, let’s get up to Camden, let's see if we can steal you that monkey on the way yeah?”

  
  
  


*****

  
  
  
  


“Did you see it? Who knew Jon was a bonafide Disney princess?” Sasha laughed as they sat under the fairy lights that zig zagged across the night sky, strung up between the Stable yard market and the wooden huts that doubled as shops.

“One squirrel a Disney princess does not make.” Jon huffed. 

“I have video evidence that says otherwise,” Martin flashed his phone in their general direction . 

“It ran right up your leg and sat on your shoulder. If you had burst into song I wouldn’t have been surprised.”

Jon shuffled along the bench towards Martin, looking down at the phone in his hand.

“I suppose that’s going on the internet?” he asked. 

The way Jon’s face turned up to Martin’s as they spoke looked almost staged, something out of a stock photo album labeled ‘pining. 

Sasha snuck a photo, or at least she would have snuck, if the flash hadn’t gone off.

“Marto doesn’t have a Facebook, your safe boss.” She grinned “I however do have Instagram and photoshop, and that was almost too cute to not immortalise on the internet.” she began tapping on her phone.

“Oh really, Sasha is there any need to…”

“Stop living under a rock Jon, we all exist online in one way or another. If you ever want to see Tim in his speedos let me know, I've got that one saved in my phone” she shooed Jon’s spluttered protests off as she posted the photo to her timeline.

“I keep telling you Sash, you can have the real thing if you want it, you don’t have to resort to stealing my insta photos.” Tim blew her a kiss across the table. 

“Well I have to steal someone's photos. Martin is too in to his stupid Tumblr to be any fun on insta, last thing he posted was you in that awful turkey hat at Christmas,” she shrugged “And his Tumbler is just poetry and cats.”

“Cats?” Jon’s eyes lit up.

“Oh you said the magic word, you have to show Jon the cat’s now.” Sasha nodded as she got to her feet and walked around to perch herself practically on Martin’s knee as he opened the Tumbler app and started scrolling

Tim nursed his drink, watching as they bonded a little more. 

Slowly the walls between them were crumbling and the confusion he felt over them all began to reorganise into very specific dockets in his mind. 

Jon and Martin. 

They had never been what he wanted, not really. 

It had always been Sasha. 

He wasn’t stupid. 

He knew love didn’t always win, that he probably built their friendship into much more in his head, that sleeping with her had been just as much a blessing as a curse. 

He would spend his life comparing everyone to her. 

But the way she had been so different recently, maybe there was hope? Real life didn’t happen like in sappy paperbacks, love didn’t solve all of life's ills. 

But broken people can get better if they want to.

It’s a hard road, but he knew now that the way he had fallen for Sasha, it had been too quick and had been a flash weld that would never hold. 

But they were different now. Maybe now they were on the same page? 

They could enter this as equals, not as a weight for the other to carry. The maybe hung heavy with each and every glance they shared.

“Hold on is that Captain Chonk?” Sasha lent over Martin’s shoulder pointing at the picture of a big round tabby with a collar and a star shaped name tag that was in the ‘more like this’ tiles on the bottom of the page.

“Why would Chonk be on a stranger I follow on Tumblr’s post?” Martin said clicking on the image. 

“It looks just like them, same collar, same tipped ear, same markings…” Jon agreed as the three of them stared down at the post.

_ Oh shit. Oh shit. _ Quick , try to change the course of the conversation.

The words didn’t even get time to form on his lips before Sasha grabbed the phone from Martin’s hand. 

“Martin? What is this ?” her voice was steady but her posture gave her away, she was mad. 

“Some random advice blog I follow. Why?” 

  
  


_ “I broke my own rule number seven exactly three times in my life and let me tell you, it isn’t worth it. Bond ripped my heart out, The Professor batted it about and Forest all but finished me off.”  _ Sasha read aloud, her eyes skimmed the phone. 

The further back she scrawled the more the line between her eyebrows turned into an angry v shape.

“So, Tim, What’s rule number seven then?” she smiled like a devil's advocate. 

How had this turn of events even happened? 

He needed to think about what he said next. He could play dumb, that seemed like the right course of action, but would that make it worse when he finally gave up the truth? 

He tried to think back to what he had written about. It hadn’t been explicitly about them. 

He had just drawn on the experiences that had been inflicted by the three people who sat around the table in various stages of confusion.

“Sasha I do-”

“If you finish that sentence with, I don’t know, it will not end well for you.”

The anger was layered in disdain as she spoke, eyes darting from Tim, sat across from her and then back down to the phone in her hand.

She mumbled to herself as she scrawled further and further back into the archives of his blog. 

Martin and Jon sat close together, the latter leaning over Martin to see the things that were flicking across the screen. 

There was a confusion on their faces, obviously they hadn’t gotten to the same conclusion that Sasha had, not yet anyway, maybe he could salvage this?

“Come on Sash, don’t be like that.” he ventured.

“No Tim, I need to know what rule number seven is and what it has to do with the three of us? Code names only work if the other people don’t know your code.” 

“The three of us?” Martin looked puzzled,

Then he didn’t. 

He looked ill. 

“You’re Mr T?” he asked, unbelieving, his eyes wide with shock.

“Who, or what is a Mr T?” Jon interjected ,so Sasha handed him the phone. 

“Scroll up Professor.” it was laced with spite when she spoke.

_ Count to ten Tim, it will be fine.  _

“I know what rule number seven is.” Martin said quietly.

He put his hand out for Jon to hand him the phone, Tim watched him tap something into the search bar, he scrawled then showed the screen to Jon and Sasha. 

The three of them were quiet for a few moments each arriving at the same conclusion at a different speed. 

He had never been caught out in all the years he had been blogging; he tried his best to be anonymous, but he had messed up now, he knew he had. 

He should have stopped when he worked out Martin had been a mutual, but he couldn’t, he had to filter his mind somewhere.

Because he couldn’t talk to his friends about the other, he hadn’t had anywhere else to channel that pain. 

Nobody to talk to without making the whole thing even more messy and complicated.

It had seemed like a good idea, it was supposed to be anonymous. He hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone with his own pain. 

Yet here he was, about to suffer, as it all came back and hit him in the face.

To Tim’s surprise it was Jon that spoke first. 

“Tim...I...I’m sorry.” 

That confused him, he had expected to be shouted at, to be dragged and berated, but Jon was saying he was sorry? 

He wasn’t sure what Jon had to be sorry about.

“What? Why?” 

Jon braced his hands on his bottle like he was building up to something. 

“Martin, Sasha... myself and Tim, we … well we were dating, for a while... Back in research.” Jon’s voice was small, but everyone around the small table was hanging on his words. 

“I...I wasn’t the best partner, I would go as far as saying, as far as boyfriends ( Jon twisted his face ) … as far as boyfriends go, I was rather awful.” he finished lamely.

“When the hell was this?” Sasha questioned, she seemed to be trying to work out how they had managed this right under her nose and Tim just knew it would be driving her mad. 

Sasha needed to know everything, that was what made her Sasha, that underlying need to know.

To be in control of the situation, to unravel things by picking apart facts. Not knowing anything would be short circuiting her brain.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked, scandalised that she couldn’t make her own memory fit this narrative.

“Probably, for the same reason Tim never said anything about you and him I should imagine Sash.” Martin scrawled the phone in his hand not looking up. 

“Tim… did you tell-”

“No, I worked it out myself.” Martin spoke over her. His voice was calm, he was used to Sasha now, she didn’t scare him, he gave as good as he got. 

“I had a feeling something was up when you stopped coming to the pub with us after you went to Yorkshire.”

“That was… different…” Sasha spluttered.

“Was it though?” Martin wasn’t holding back “You were the one who asked me not to come with you, that you wanted time with Tim. It didn’t take a genius to work it out.”

“It was one…  _ It was _ … it was one….” Sasha fumbled her words, before pointing a painted nail between Jon and Tim .

“ Just...How long were the two of you going at it?” she accused, trying desperately not to look like the bad guy.

“A few month’s more or less. After my Grandmother died, since I know you're desperate for the facts.” Jon said calmly, he was obviously resolved in the fact that this was happening, despite the fact he looked like he would quite like to go hide anywhere but here.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” That was directed at Tim, he shrugged, he would quite like to have the floor open up and swallow him whole about now. But not telling anyone else about him and Jon? that wasn’t on him, he would have shouted it from the rooftops that he had Jon on his arm, it had been torture not to.

“I asked Jon the same question, I think Elias was the only one who suspected something. Ask Jon your question not me. He was the one that didn’t want to tell anyone about us.”

“Now that’s not fair.” Jon complained.

“But it’s true.”

Martin had been quiet, listening to this all play out, now he could put the faces to the strangers on the internet, was he placing the bits together to find the bigger picture? 

Tim knew that Martin had felt awful for what had happened or to be fair what hadn’t happened, between them. 

Not that he regretted it, more the fact that Tim had stepped back as soon as he realized that Martin had feelings for Jon. Now that Martin knew the history between Jon and Tim, Tim was under no illusion that Martin would be ripping himself apart with the extra guilt.

Jon got to his feet, and for a moment Tim was sure he was about to storm off.

“I’m not drunk enough for this...be right back.” he said heading into the bar. 

Sasha watched him go before getting to her feet as well. 

“Are you going to walk out? I hear you're good at that .” Martin muttered under his breath watching as Jon left them.

Sasha looked at him angrily. 

“Don’t you start, just cause you found out Tim beat you to the boss.” She grabbed her bag “I'm going to the loo,” 

They watched as Sasha disappeared into the pub in Jon’s wake.

“Why didn’t you… why didn’t you say something?” Martin said as soon as they were alone.

“Did it matter?”

“You and Jon? Yes it matters! Tim, you were a bloody mess when your mystery man and you split. Now I find out it’s Jon? Jon who I …”

“Marto, look at me.” he grabbed him by the shoulder making him turn to face him. 

“Do not ,for any second think that I begrudge anything that happens between you and Jon, yeah I was messed up, but me and him, it was never going to work.”

“But-”

“Martin if I'm honest, I never really got over Sasha.” when he said it aloud he realized how true it actually was. 

Maybe he had been trying to bury it all this time, trying to wrap himself up in everyone else, and with anyone that showed an interest that he felt he could trust. And he had, he had put his trust in Sasha and he had put his trust in Jon, and so far the only one that had proven that his faith in them was true was the man sitting beside him now. 

“I don’t think it's me you need to be telling that to somehow.” Martin said softly. “You do realise that she’s only mad because she still cares about you right? Like … a lot.”

Martin looked so honest it almost hurt to look at him. 

“I wish I had your faith sometimes. You're a better man than me.” Tim scrunched up his face tipping his head back to look at the fairy lights that made the stars impossible to see behind the artificial constellations that hung in formation below them.

“I don’t know about that, I mean you helped a lot of people with your advice. I’m more annoyed I didn’t realise it was you, it seems obvious now looking back at it.”

Tim sighed. “Everything always does when you look back at it. Why are relationships in real life not as easy as a quick fix found from strangers on the internet?”

  
  


“For a relationship guru, you're a bit crap at this.” Jon announced as he arrived back at the table with Sasha at his side. 

“Yeah well, you know, rules are made to be broken and all that bollocks.” Tim complained as he took the drink offered to him.

It looked like they were talking about this now then?

He wanted nothing more than to go home, chalk this up to being the worst birthday ever and maybe start looking for another job in the morning. 

But the others seemed to have different plans. 

They sat in silence while they all tried to work out exactly what they wanted to say. 

They seemed to have calmed down after the initial outrage had drained from them, at least it looked as if they weren't going to disown him and never speak to him again.

It was Jon who broke the silence eventually.

“So, if I’m the professor and Sasha is Bond, who’s the third?” Jon asked as they got to the end of the round, was that what he had been mulling over?

“Are you for real?” Sasha rolled her eyes, “Are you taking the actual piss right now?”

Jon looked affronted. “No? I mean it’s obviously someone from work-”

“Jon, it’s me you spanner! “ Martin nudged him, the grin barely hiding Martin’s amusement at Jon’s bewilderment.

“You?” Jon sat bolt upright “But why Forest?”

“Blackwood…. As in a dark forest…. For someone so clever, sometimes you're so thick.” 

Sasha shook her head “Tim’s was reaching a little with that one… I mean he's been calling me a secret agent since the day we met, so Bond makes sense, and you really did look like a professor, even without the old man getup that you insisted on wearing when you started. I mean I think he even has them set as our names in his phone. He’s not exactly the master of subterfuge. Although I'll admit I'm intrigued into what got someone the code name Sambuca?” 

Tim locked eyes with her, she wasn’t mad, not really. 

“Wow, you really are enjoying raking right up there, poking around in the old Tim noggin and dissecting my own personal ramblings hu? Is nothing sacred?”

“You put it on the internet Mr T, that means it's fair game. Also I demand to see photos of you with blond curtains, I need a good laugh.” Sasha had moved slightly further around towards him now, the rage slowly beginning to drop off her.

Jon was chewing something over in his head, his attention completely fixed on Martin. 

“Tim and Martin…” he muttered under his breath, loud enough for Tim to hear and to grab Martin’s attention. 

“Oh for fucks sake… This is exactly why I said nothing!“ Tim waved his hand in the man's direction.

“What?” Jon snapped out of his trance.

“It was one snog in a cupboard, well maybe more than one but that’s beside the point, it wasn’t anything serious. Anyway Martin’s too  _ hung up on someone else  _ , sometimes you gotta catch and release.” 

Tim hoped that the poignant look he gave Jon would be enough for him to work it out. 

Although, he knew Jon better than most, and he very much doubted Jon would get it unless you actually wrote it in four foot high letters on the side of Big Ben, and even then it might be pushing it. 

The way Martin was looking at Jon now however, bordered on infatuation, and that was possibly more effective than any sign would ever be. Something Jon couldn’t really ignore, what with him staring at him from less than a couple of inches away.

“Someone else?... what do you…. _ oh _ …”

“Ding Ding Ding, Sims gets it in the final round” Sasha said sarcastically as she scrawled through her phone, she at least glanced up to see both of her friends die a little of embarrassment but share timid smiles.

Maybe tonight might not turn into a total train wreck.

If he could still get Jon and Martin to talk, then maybe this was the way Tim still got a win. 

He got to his feet, it was his round. 

Nobody paid him any mind, Sasha was deep in her scouring of his blog and Martin and Jon seemed to be unable to take their eyes off each other, they seemed to be trying to speak without words. 

Seriously, him and Sasha couldn’t make it anymore clearer if they tried.

If they still didn’t know how hopelessly besotted the other was by this point there wasn’t a single hope to be had for either of them.

  
  


***

“Tim?” 

They had been the last ones to get kicked out of the pub, darkness had set in on all sides as they wound their way in search of more drinks. 

They walked slowly, although if Sasha didn’t stop scrawling through his blog and hurry up ,he might launch her phone into the regent canal.

“Yup?” 

“You don’t mention many people other than us in your last gazillion posts? What about all the others?” Sasha said as the four of them stopped to wait for the green man.

“What others?” he looked at her confused. 

“All the others you have been out with in the time we’ve worked together?” she continued.

It wasn’t Tim who answered her, it was Jon. 

“There aren't any.”

Sasha put a hand out to stop Tim from crossing the road. 

“But all of the people-” she gestured around them.

“What people?” he crossed his arms suddenly feeling like he was being attacked.

“You know? All the chatting up, the flirting?” So this was the underlying issue then? Sasha still hadn’t worked out that it was all an act? It stung, he thought she knew him better than that.

“I’m just using the assets I have at my disposal. If being an absolute himbo gets me a lead, I’ll do what I have to. We can’t all be good at computers Sash, gotta get information out of people somehow.”

“But your such-” she started but he cut her off.

“Such a what?” he wanted to know what she really thought of him. 

“Well I was going to say player…”

He looked at his three closest friends, did they really know him that little? After all this time? And Sasha? After everything did she really think he was that shallow?

“In the entirety of the time I’ve worked at the Magnus institute, I’ve been involved with exactly three people.” he gave them a loaded look, filled with knowing.

“And for the record, they all kissed me first.”

That got the exact reaction Tim was expecting. 

They couldn’t argue with facts, not when they were about them.

Jon had gone straight into his comfort tic, his hand coming up to fuss with his hair, Martin had gone red in the ears and suddenly found the button on the crossing fascinating and Sasha, she had gone into warrior mode, standing her ground and showing zero emotion on her face.

He wasn’t going to back down, not now, if he was pouring it all out and digging at the wound with a rusty nail he might as well go for broke.

“So maybe, before you go accusing me of being some sort of east lay. You should all have a good look at yourselves?” 

That made them all look at him .

“As far as I can see, I'm the only one who got used in  _ this _ “ he waved his hand in a circle indicating them all “All, because you were all too busy in your own heads to think about me.” 

“Tim… it wasn’t like that.” Martin started.

“Really? “ he was getting mad now, pointing an accusing finger at Martin .

“You, I almost forgive, a lot of it was on me. But seriously dude, the way you blew me off after? Not your finest moment, I mean I get it, you know I get it. But it was still really shity, you're one of my best mates, we should have at least talked about it.” 

Tim looked at Jon who seemed to have moved closer to Martin as Tim had confronted him, it was almost protective, the way he stepped between Tim and Martin, as if Jon had any chance in a fight with him. 

“And you Jon, whatever decisions you came to when we were together. Maybe if you had talked to me about it we could have worked through it? I mean what you did was a steaming pile, and I am sorry it ended the way it did. And yes … Martin’s right, it did mess me up... cause believe it or not I really liked you, even the angry bits. I just wish you hadn't used me to find yourself.”

Jon looked like he was about to speak but Martin placed a hand on his arm to silence him, Jon looked up moving further into the other man's presence. 

It was bitter sweet, Tim loved them both and wanted them to be happy but it was tinged with his own loss.

Sasha was braced for the shouting, he could see it in her face when he finally found the nerve to look at her, his voice barely able to form anything more than a broken whisper now as he bit down on the emotions that had worked to the surface under the looseness of the alcohol.

“You told me you were sure, then the next day …nothing? Do you know how much that hurt? Do you have any idea how much I actually care about you?” 

He wasn’t going to give them the benefit of seeing him cry despite the fact he felt like he was on the edge of a bombardment of tears. 

Sasha said nothing. 

The world had shrunk down to just the two of them, he was vaguely aware of Jon and Martin (‘We will just....’ ‘We’ll just let you two talk shall we?’) moving out of his field of vision, he was aware of them, in much the same way he was aware of the crossing light blinking and the sound of the motorway in the distance, they were there. They existed. 

But they were not important right now. 

Right now all that mattered was Sasha. 

“Tim.”

Her voice was small, if he hadn’t been so focused on her he wouldn’t have heard it. 

It barely cut through the weight of the muggy summer air that muffled the world, that silence that threatened to suffocate you if you gave it half a chance.

She stepped towards him, her palms turned up to him, unthreatening and slow.

So that was what that looked like? 

He hadn’t been on the receiving end of this manoeuvre, being approached as if he were about to bolt. He had spent his entire life making sure that everyone else was safe, knowing they weren’t alone. When did it get to be his turn? 

He was mad, he was angry, but just as much at himself as he was the others. It was his own stupid persona that had caused this mess.

Was it really that hard to just be himself? 

If he hadn’t fallen back into the habit of hiding behind this over the top character that shared his name, Sasha might not have been so quick to think he was just in it for the sex.

Jon might have given them a chance, talked through the confusion instead of assuming that Tim only wanted one thing from him. Martin might have made a move so much sooner had he thought that Tim was capable of returning the affection.

To many what if’s, not enough answers, it was overwhelming.

When had Sasha reached him? He had barely registered her as she had taken his face in her hands. 

“Tim?” 

Her eyes were dark pools as she looked at him, the fuzzy orange of the street lights reflected in them as she tried to understand what was going on in his mind.

Her thumb wiped away the tears that had betrayed him and forced their way past his lids without his consent. 

“I… Tim, would you like to get dinner with me? Tomorrow? I think we might have to have a very serious chat don’t you?” It hadn’t been what he was expecting, but he wasn’t entirely sure what he had been expecting in the first place. 

Tim managed to nod, sinking into the hug that Sasha offered up.

“You’re a stupid stubborn idiot, you know that right?” she spoke into his hair, her lips grazing his scalp where the hair was sawn short, he wrapped his arms around her pulling her close. 

He nodded. He was, he knew he was. He just didn’t have the words to say as much himself right now.

“I’m sorry I ran away... from you… from us…” she muttered as she stroked his neck. 

“I'm just a coward, I was scared.” her voice broke as she spoke, “It wasn’t fair to you, I felt awful afterwards. I wanted to talk to you, but you were acting like nothing happened, it sort of tied in with the thing I was scared of, that you wouldn’t want me, not the way I wanted you.” 

Tim chanced a look at her.

“Sash, I pretty much self sabotage everything I touch, I was sure I’d fucked up. I had no idea what to do , what to say to you. I think that’s why me and Jon were destined to end in disaster, I pushed too hard. And somewhere under everything, all I wanted was you. ”

Sasha moved her hands back to his face. Wiping away the last of the tears.

“You are still gonna have to explain to me how you pulled Jonathan Sims, because I mean, I'm impressed.” she forced a smile. “Although also deeply wounded that the image of you two together will have to just live in my brain since you kept it a bloody secret.” 

Tim laughed at that. It was a messy tear drenched thing but it came from deep within him and might well be the first real laugh he had had in what felt like forever. 

It felt real. He felt real, something he had all but given up on.

“Not gonna lie, Me and Jon, it was so hot you would have burned yourself upon seeing it. Your eyes would have melted right out of the sockets, trust me it’s best you didn’t witness it’s might.” 

Sasha shook her head, dropping her hands from his face to his shoulders. 

His hands had naturally fallen to her hips as she stepped back to look at him properly.

“See this is why you have a reputation. Saying things like that, you will be telling me Martin tried to plough you into a bookshelf next.”

“Sink… but not far off.” Tim shot off light-heartedly, the warmth of Sasha under his palms soothed his pained heart.

“What? Really?”

“Do not be fooled. That man is an animal, ten out of ten would kiss again...Jon’s a lucky guy.”

Sasha slipped her hands down to join his twisting their fingers together. 

It felt right, it felt good.

One step at a time. Baby steps.

This time they wouldn’t fuck it up.

Sasha tugged at his hand, heading towards the canal and the spot that Tim was sure Jon and Martin had headed.

He was glad that he hadn't totally broken down in front of everyone at least. He could still sway some semblance of cool in front of them, that wasn’t something he could really achieve post snot filled crying fit.

Sasha, watched as he rubbed at his eyes with the back of his free hand. 

“It’s ok, you have elusive ‘Mr T’ back in place, nobody needs to know you blow snot bubbles when you cry but me.” 

“See this is why I love you Sash, you always know exactly what to say to a man to make him feel just so damn attractive and respected.” Sasha pulled him closer resting her head on his shoulder as they wound along the canal. 

“I happen to quite like snot bubble Stoker, that other guy, Mr T? He was a bit of a jerk, hope he doesn’t turn up at our date tomorrow.” she squeezed Tim’s hand reassuring him returning a gesture in the way he had given out to others a million times before, it seemed so strange to be on the other end of the affection. 

He wanted to trust in the comfort, he wanted to trust Sasha.

“I will try my very hardest to make the real Tim Stoker attend.”

He pressed a kiss gently on the crown of her head, her hair tickling his nose. 

“You better, or were getting Lebanese and you’re paying.” she hugged into his side and his heart raced just a little faster. 

“You better not have just boogied up my hair Mr.”

He lifted his head away inspecting the top of her head before resting back against her. 

“Nah we're good.”

“Yeah, I think we will be.” Sasha sighed as she squeezed his hand once more for good luck.

  
  


They walked a little further, the gentle sounds of London creeping in from all sides as people darted around on their late night adventures, they stepped out the way of a Uber eats courier and wandered past a night fisherman who seemed to be enthusiastically casting in the dirty canal, Tim couldn’t help but wonder if he ever caught much more than old tires and the occasional shoe. He was about to ask him when Sasha dug her elbow sharpley into his side. 

“Ow, what was that for?” 

“Ok Casanova ,I now believe you about the sink…” Sasha buried her laughter into Tim’s side. Peaking over his elbow eyes wide with amusement.

Up ahead Martin had Jon practically pinned against the wall, not that it appeared to be one sided, Tim had been right in his assumption that to Martin, Jon was but a ragdoll. The way he held him against the wall was bordering upon pornographic and if Tim didn’t know better, he might have felt the need to throw a bucket of water over them.

“They seem to be…” Sasha searched for the word to describe the heated make out session that seemed to have spawned on them like a badly written plot point from game of thrones.

“Occupied?” Tim suggested.

“I was gonna say,  _ going for it _ , but yeah let's go for occupied.” Sasha sounded amused. 

“Should we interrupt or?” Tim ventured, he remembered how mortified Jon had been at just being seen holding hands in public, this was very much more than just holding hands. 

But to be fair, Jon seemed to be very,  _ very  _ preoccupied at the moment the public display probably wasn’t at the forefront of his mind.

“Nah, let them have this, they have been playing footsie under the table all night, let them get rewarded for the effort.” Sasha seemed to find this all highly amusing, “Must feel weird to see two of you ex’s sucking each other's faces off?” Sasha nudged him again, she was right it did but not in the way he expected it to, the warmth in his chest was born out of affection not rage.

Sasha James, how could one person be so observant and still manage to sometimes miss the most glaring thing in the room.

“A little.” 

He unhooked his arm from where Sasha had clung tightly and threw it around her shoulders pulling her as close as he could. 

“You’re just upset that you never got a bit of hot Blackwood action,” he joked, and was surprised to find it didn’t hurt. 

“To be fair, yeah.” 

The sound of laughter must have carried on the night air as Jon and Martin broke apart looking sheepishly in their direction.

“Took you long enough.” Sasha said from her spot firmly under Tim’s arm.

Jon looked at the floor but Martin’s face broke into a grin that spread ear to ear as Jon silently slipped a hand into his.

Tim and Sasha didn’t slow as they passed the others, if Jon and Martin wanted to be alone, well Tim wasn’t going to hover. His work was done. 

Plus he had Sasha at his side, something that he was sure could only make anything going forward a little more bearable. 

“Come on. I need a drink… you two can thank me for my services later.” Tim shouted back over his shoulder.

“You didn’t do anything.” Jon shouted after them.

“Oh, That's just what  _ you _ think.” he shouted back as he grinned down at Sasha, she might not be his entire world but she was in all the bits that made it worth living. She pulled him in closer, hand nipping at his side.

“You know you should write a book, Timothy Stokers guide to dating, subheading :how not to do it.” she spelled it out in the air before them, twirling a finger to create a full stop.

“Harsh, but probably very fair.” 

Maybe he would, it wasn’t like he would be in the institute forever, maybe he could write a book. 

Maybe not dating advice though, it seemed he really wasn’t as good at it as he thought he was.

  
  
  
  


* * *

[if you want to see the sculptures they gang were looking at this is the link for you ](https://judeslondoneye.wordpress.com/2017/07/09/frieze-sculpture-in-regents-park-2017/)

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's the main story done and dusted, I have an epilogue to go up and I might have a sequel at some point maybe.  
> I'm glad you all loved it as much as I did writing it.
> 
> I've just started posting another work 
> 
> Synaesthesia.  
> A Jon/Gerry/Martin fic that is a little more plot based then just relationship thing.  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/28855638/chapters/70782669


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good house etiquettes for training the boyfriend, photographic pursuits and the fate of a feline friend.

“Throw me an Irn bru will you Sash?” 

Sasha shot a look of disdain in his direction but walked over to join him on the corner sofa of their flat, folding herself into his side and pressing a kiss on his cheek.

“What have we learned from the last time?”

“No throwing fizzy stuff across the flat or I have to pay for the cleaning bill when it inevitably explodes all over the sofa?” He attempted puppy dog eyes but couldn’t keep a straight face long enough for it to be effective in any way, shape, or form.

From the other side of the sofa Martin laughed, disturbing Jon who had until a moment ago been snoring gently on his knee. 

“Wazhapen?” he yawned and stretched, eyes darting around the room.

“Sasha is house training Tim. I’m still surprised she lets him on the furniture.” Martin soothed his jumpy boyfriend with a hand on the small of his back, Jon sunk into the touch. 

“If he misbehaves, I've got a pull out sun lounger on the balcony and he gets relegated to there.”

“You could just spray him with a water bottle?” Jon suggested sleepily.

“I tried that, positive reinforcements rather than shoving his nose in the mess works wonders but the direct to the scene of the crime? Nope, he just gets all self righteous.”

“Hey now, what's all this? What did I do to deserve being ganged up on?” He looked between the three of them. Attacking him like this in his own house was just rude. 

“It’s more a case of what didn’t you do to be fair.” Martin said grabbing the remote and flicking through Netflix. 

“Hold on, I thought we were going to watch top gun?” Jon yawned. Martin paused his flicking to look at the smaller man. The look of adoration was never far from Martin's face these days when they had quiet moments. 

“We did-” 

“-you fell asleep before it even started.” Sasha finished getting settled as Tim chuckled at Jon indignantly looking at his watch as if it had betrayed him with its passage of time.

“This is why you never get the high quality of my jokes boss. Can’t even sit through a movie with the alpha short king, I would have thought you would have loved to see someone shorter than you get the girl.” Tim cast off as Jon sat himself back up and rubbed at his eyes. Tim could practically see the thought process going on in Jon’s head.

“He would be too short to have a place in the air force, I don’t for a second think that -”

“Jon, it's a movie. You don’t have to pick it apart, you just have to watch it, and appreciate the god awful volleyball scene.” Sasha intervened. 

“I’m thinking that should be the July spread for the calendar, I need to see you all in booty shorts and sweatbands.”

“Oh, I like the idea, it has merit.” Tim agreed watching as Jon and Martin exchanged worried glances. 

Sasha and Tim had been threatening them with a homemade office pinup calendar ever since the excellent Captain had chewed the last one off the wall with a look of vengeance fixed upon a slightly terrified Elias. 

The Captain was too old to be much of a threat, but Elias really seemed to hate the cat. 

Nobody questioned the way she prowled the institute now, often seen with a spindly leg hanging out of her mouth as she fixed beady amber eyes on Elias and bit down on a spider with what Tim could swear was a grin.

She was becoming something of an urban legend, the cat that would not die, that disappeared into the London fog with little bye or leave. She certainly looked the part now, patches of fur missing along the base of her tail and tipped ear drooping with age, she could often be found down in the archives wedged between (the not so) Tiny and Sasha’s spider plant on the long thin window that sat ground level with the pavement, scaring small children and pigeons alike.

“Anyway… what should we watch now? Comedy, horror, a period tragedy?” Martin asked, waving the remote around and trying to change the subject.

“Didn’t realise that my love life had its own sub category on Netflix.” Tim joked.

“Hoy you!” Sasha slapped his chest playfully. “No need for that, you got there in the end.”

“Yes, but at what cost… I mean have you seen them two? It's like watching a squid go at it.” he nodded toward Jon and Martin, where the taller man had just placed a kiss on the other man’s forehead, Tim caught Jon’s eye with a smirk and momentarily later ended up getting a pillow thrown at his face.

“Any need, Jonathan.” 

“Absolutely loads of need, you cheeky shit,” but Martin, twisting, had distracted Jon again. Now he was reaching as he grabbed the remote from Martin where he tried to hold it out of the smaller man’s grasp.

“No. Dullard McDull doesn’t get access to the remote. There are only so many episodes of the blue planet a man can sit through before he goes completely mad.” Tim shouted as he rubbed at the point on his nose where the pillow had collided. 

“Oh shut up, I was going to put something decent on, maybe something that came out in the last decade, some of us exist in the time after the millennium you know,” Tim looked at the faded sex pistols shirt and the ripped and torn jeans and couldn’t help but think that Jon was being a bloody big hypocrite.

Tim shook his head. “We all know that’s a lie,”  he scoffed.

“I was going to put Dredd on, Martin likes the actor, and I remember reading the comics as a child.” 

Sasha grinned at Tim, and he was sure that her mind had jumped straight back to his old flat.

“You should ask Martin about his thoughts on David Tennant one day Jon, it’s enlightening,” she smiled as the opening chords of the movie sounded from the television.

Martin flushed as Jon looked at him quizzically. 

“Martin?”

“Shush, just watch the movie, I’ll tell you later. Promise.” 

Tim retrieved the can that Sasha offered him, trying his best not to shake it up, tapping it three times on the top to settle the bubbles.

When he pulled the tab back, it still fizzed up in a mini explosion. 

He narrowly avoided the sofa with a quick evasive manoeuvre but his white shirt would forever have radioactive orange spots on it. 

“I have a child, not a partner.” Sasha said reaching over him and grabbing some tissues from the side table she helped him clean himself up. “Where did you learn that wonderfully unsuccessful trick?”

Jon laughed. “The internet probably.”

“Hey, I will have you know… actually yeah… it was.”

“Have we learned nothing about the internet?” Sasha asked mopping the last of the spilled soda from his arm. 

“It was on Tik Tok not Tumblr.” 

“Oh yeah, a much more reliable source.” Martin volunteered from behind him.

“Wow, it really is a pick on Tim day huh?” he grumbled but when he looked at Sasha she looked distracted, her mind seemed to have wandered off somewhere and he doubted it was to Karl Urban’s stupidly tight leather pants. 

“Sash love, you okay?”

“Did you ever delete it?”

On the other side of the sofa Tim knew that the eyes glued to the t.v were not really paying attention to the plot, but both of them were attempting to let them have a little privacy and Tim appreciated the gesture. 

“What?” he asked even though he knew exactly what she was talking about, he was hoping they might have got past this.

“Your blog? Did you delete it… you know after everything?” Tim could lie, but he knew Sasha would see straight through it, she really knew him better than himself theses days, stopping him before he said something stupid, talking him down when he had delved too deep in his quest to find closure on Danny. 

She had been at his side while they found a therapist willing to believe the truth. And as that truth fell from his mouth, he found some sort of peace. 

She didn’t solve all the problems in his life, but she definitely softened the blows by just being part of him.

“No, It’s still there.” he admitted feeling foolish that he hadn’t done this one thin that still hung over all of their heads.

“He’s not updated in ages, mind. Just think of all the people hanging on for the gritty conclusion to the Mr T saga.” Martin pepped up from his position wedged behind (a most definitely not falling asleep, don’t be silly,) Jon.

“Thanks mate, not helping.”

“You’re welcome. Love you too.” Martin blew him a kiss that met with nothing but a middle finger and no response.

Tim didn’t know why he hadn’t deleted it yet.  It had been such a big part of his life for so long, somewhere to spill his soul when he had nobody else to talk to. 

But he didn’t need it, not now. 

He had Sasha, and if it was something that he couldn’t confide in her, Martin and Jon were literally in the next block of flats or an office away. 

He had no need for anonymity anymore. 

  
  
  


He reached for his phone, signing in to the browser and typing in his URL.

He didn’t need it anymore, everything he needed was right where it had always been.

  
  


**_Editor-In-Beef_ **

**_Hi, My Names Mr.T and I’m starting this blog to share with you my tips for being successful in love …_ **

He hovered .

**Are you sure you want to delete this blog?**

***click***

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thankyou all so much for sticking with me to the end.  
> special shout out to triffid and book of wilds who have been brilliant throughout this whole thing   
> and thankyou to everyone who's left comments and kudos.
> 
> I'm a little sad to be at the end.
> 
> ( by all means I know someone asked me about using this as a basis on there own works I'm more than fine with it as long as you link me in your work and let me see what you did with it !)


End file.
